


Like a Road Through Mountains

by thornfield_girl



Category: Justified
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Divorce, Frottage, Gunshot Wounds, Love, M/M, Pre-Canon, Religion, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:36:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyd shows up at just the right moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Prologue: 1983-1988

They are 14 years old, born in within weeks of each other. Winter babies, both of them, Raylan was born in the middle of December, and Boyd in the first week of January. 

They have always known each other, but they have never been friends.

Their families attend the same church, though the Crowders' attendance has been sporadic at best since the death of Boyd's mother. Arlo Givens rarely shows his face on Sunday, but Frances comes every week, trailing an increasingly aloof and silent Raylan. 

Boyd loves church, though he does not believe. He loves the way the preacher speaks, weaving words into something more than the sum of their parts (a phrase he had loved the second he'd heard it), and the way he almost dances at the pulpit. Boyd can see the way he holds these people in the palm of his hand. They would believe anything, do anything he asked of them in that moment.

When Boyd is not watching the preacher, he is watching Raylan. His eyes are drawn back over and over, though after the time his father smacked him upside the head and pointed at the front of the church, Boyd became much more circumspect about the habit.  
He watches Raylan simply because he finds him beautiful. Boyd knows what that means, more or less, but he hasn't yet made up his mind what he thinks about it, or what he might ever be inclined to do about it.   
Raylan never returns his glances, but twice he's seen a small smile creep onto his face when he looked. The boy must have very good peripheral vision.

The first Sunday in June, there is a church picnic after services. The Crowders are there that week, of course. Bo Crowder never missed a chance for glad-handing and showing off. Frances Givens brings a casserole and a pecan pie, and even Arlo has dragged his hangover to church this week. 

Arlo is snarling something at Raylan in a low voice, and the boy's eyes go cold and distant until it's over. Frances is chatting with the pastor's wife over by the dessert table, but she is not oblivious. Boyd sees her face become tense as she glances over at her husband and son, though she keeps a smile on her face. 

Boyd fixes himself a heaping plate of food and walks past them close, deliberately not looking in their direction, but slowing down half a step. He walks to the perimeter of the gathering, sitting at the base of a small hill. As he watches, Arlo stalks away, over to Raylan's mother. Raylan glances around, then walks toward him. 

Raylan is skinny, tall, with big feet and long fingers. Boyd reassesses his original appraisal of the boy's appearance. He's not just beautiful, Boyd thinks, he's golden. Special in some way that he's obviously unaware of himself.

He approaches with a suspicious glare, and when he's close enough to be heard, he says, "You want somethin', Crowder?"

Boyd shrugs. "Figured you mightn't feel like hangin' out with your daddy no more, and maybe you wanted to eat with me."

"I didn't get food yet," Raylan says warily. 

"I took extra," he says, gesturing at the piled-up plate.

"Why'd you do that?" Raylan frowns at him like he's looking for a trap.

"Raylan, you can see I'm eating it. It ain't poisoned. I know you want to sit down, else you wouldn't still be here." 

Raylan just looks at him for a second, shrugs, and sits down on the other side of that plate of food. He picked up a chicken thigh and mutters, "Thanks," before taking a bite. 

They eat in silence for a few minutes, then Raylan says, "You only brought one fork. How'm I supposed to eat the potato salad?"

Boyd grins down at his food and says, "You go ahead first, I ain't worried about your cooties."

"Yeah, that's okay," he says, giving him a sidelong glance, "maybe I'll get some later."

"Suit yourself," Boyd returns, and picks up the fork. 

They finish all the food on the plate, and Boyd goes back for dessert. He's not at all sure Raylan will still be waiting there when he gets back, but when he is, Boyd feels something flip over inside of him. 

They stuff themselves on pie and brownies - Boyd remembered to grab an extra fork - and lie back on the hill when it's all gone. 

"Hey Crowder," Raylan says, "why are you always staring at me in church?"

Boyd's heart beats a bit faster at the question, but his voice is steady as he lies, "You look like you're buying all that bullshit about as much as I am."

Raylan laughs and says, "Well, it can't be all that obvious, 'cause I ain't heard about it from my mama yet."

"Takes one to know one, maybe." 

Raylan looks at him real quick with a tiny frown on his face, then relaxes. "Yeah," he says, "Maybe."

The next time they see each other in church, Raylan gives him a nod as he walks in with Bowman and their daddy. Boyd nods back. He tries not to look too many times during the service.

When school starts back in September, they are in the same 9th grade home room. Raylan walks in and sits at the desk next to him like it's expected. As if they've been friends all their lives instead of just having had one conversation and shared a plate of food. That's fine with Boyd, although it occurs to him that he does not have a good read on Raylan Givens just yet. 

They are now friends, because Raylan assumes they are, and Boyd wants them to be. 

In their sophomore year, Raylan joins the baseball team and gets his first girlfriend. Boyd hardly sees him until six months later, when the girl breaks up with him. He's sulking all day at school, and Boyd catches up with him as they're walking out at the end of the day.

"What's wrong, Raylan?" Boyd asks as they fall in step with each other. 

"Katie broke up with me. She said I don't call her enough and I ain't romantic enough, and I guess she got a better offer from some senior."

"Sorry 'bout that. You want to hang out tonight, maybe go drink up some of my daddy's stash?" 

Raylan sighs. "Yeah... I guess so."

They go drinking that night, and it becomes a semi-regular occurrence until in their junior year Raylan finds another girlfriend. Boyd knows he can't act too pissed about being blown off without giving himself away, so he goes and finds his own girlfriend.   
Sometimes they double up, and that's okay, but he doesn't much like seeing Raylan with a girl. It makes things feel hopeless. 

This girl doesn't last long either, and Raylan swears he's finished with girlfriends for the foreseeable future. They're sitting in the cab of Boyd's truck, windows rolled down to let the smoke from Boyd's cigarette drift out. "I'm just gonna date sluts from now on," he says, "No more relationships."

Boyd is quiet, for once unable to think of what to say. He wants to tell him, but he knows how dangerous that is. 

"What about you, Boyd? You gonna keep seeing Stacy now that me and Jen broke up?"

Boyd looks at Raylan blankly. "What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

Raylan opens his mouth like he's got something to say, then closes it and looks away, shrugging. 

"Raylan, you obviously got some idea about something to do with me, so I'd appreciate you just spitting it the fuck out." Boyd's heart is pounding so hard he thinks Raylan should be able to hear it, like in that Poe story. 

Raylan shakes his head, then looks back at Boyd. "Forget it. I ain't got any ideas."

Boyd stares at him until he looks back out the window, but he doesn't say anything about it. Boyd breaks up with Stacy a week later, but Raylan never says a word.

At the end of their senior year, Raylan destroys Dickie Bennett's leg in a brawl on the baseball field. Boyd has no idea what sort of deal goes down, but he's old enough to know that people put themselves out. He knows why they would, too. Boyd knows he's not the only one who recognizes his beauty.

There are several parties on graduation night. They start out at different ones, but end up at the same kegger, in a field somewhere. Boyd spies Raylan hanging on the periphery. He knows that's where Raylan prefers to be, and he's glad for it, because he knows he can draw him away without much trouble. 

They are both fairly lit by this point in the evening. Raylan doesn't see him walking up, he's standing with a plastic cup of beer, surveying the scene like he's taking notes in his head. There’s a bonfire going, making everything glow. He startles a little when Boyd says hello. Then he turns and smiles, like he’s just been waiting. Boyd knows about waiting.

Boyd doesn’t have a beer yet, but when he says he’s going to get one, Raylan says, “Don’t bother. You can have this one, I barely touched it. I drank a shitload of whiskey at the last place I was, and I feel like I might fall down if I drink anything else. That is, if you don’t mind my cooties too much.”

Boyd takes the cup and says, “I think I can risk it,” but all he can think of is that Raylan remembers that day, that first conversation, and that fact feels important. 

They look at each other and start walking, away from the crowd and into the shadows. There are a few couples scattered around, making out mostly, but one couple seems to be fucking underneath the girl’s flowing cotton skirt. They walk further, out to where there’s no one, out to where the trees start, and further still. 

“Where are we going, Raylan?” Boyd says, finally. 

“I was just following you, Boyd,” Raylan laughs.

“Why?” Boyd is looking at him now, and he won’t let him off the hook this time. He needs to know, he’s been waiting long enough.

Raylan doesn’t answer for a long time. When he does speak, all he says is, “You know.”

They’re looking at each other, and Boyd knows, of course he does, but he needs to hear it. He shakes his head. “I don’t.”

“Yes, you _do._ ” Raylan is looking a little desperate now, a little bit afraid, and Boyd doesn’t need to hear anything else, anymore. 

“Okay,” he says, very softly, barely more than a breath. He takes a hesitant step forward, realizes he's still holding the beer. He's paralyzed for a second, he can't figure out what to do next, but Raylan reaches forward and pulls it from his hand, tosses it away.   
Then they're up against each other, all at once, and the years of wanting come crashing down on both of them. 

Raylan is putting his hands on him, they're under his t-shirt and sliding up his back, they're on his face and in his hair, and then _oh god_ rubbing at the front of his jeans, hard, and it's too much, but he doesn't stop. He just keeps rubbing, pressing, and kissing him, and it feels so good, too good, and he's needed this for so long.

Boyd can't do anything, can't even move except to push back against him, and Raylan - who hadn't been all that steady on his feet to begin with - loses his balance. He falls on his ass, and Boyd drops to his knees next to him, then pulls him in. He's too far gone to stop now, and he grabs Raylan's hand, puts it back where he needs it. 

It hardly takes any time. Boyd puts his own hand on top of Raylan's and pushes down, rocking his hips into it, and lets out a small, keening cry that sounds like grief.

Raylan is reaching for him, pulling at his shoulders, and Boyd kisses him. Boyd feels him, he's so hard, and he can't believe it's for him. He works the button of Raylan's fly and tries to get his hand in. 

Raylan lets go of Boyd for a second to push his jeans down to his hips. He barely touches Raylan's dick before he's coming, and Boyd can feel it on his hand, like he's felt his own many times, but it's not his own. It's Raylan's come, Raylan's dick he's holding, and he laughs a little. He's been waiting for this, but he realizes he never thought it would actually happen.

He pulls his hand out of Raylan's pants and wipes it off on some leaves. He starts to sit up, but Raylan grabs him. "You ain't gonna run off now, are you?" 

"No," Boyd answers, "that was not the plan. But we probably shouldn't stay out here too long." Boyd can hardly believe he sounds so sensible and calm to his own ears. 

"Right. Yeah. I meant..." 

"I know what you meant, Raylan," Boyd says quietly. "I ain't scared. This didn't scare me."

"No? You may be a braver man than me, then, Boyd." 

Boyd stares at him, trying to read his face, but it's too dark to see much. He shakes his head and says, "If I was brave, I'd have done this years ago." 

He kisses Raylan then, slow, the way he'd always wanted to, the way he hadn't been able to a few minutes before. He's afraid for a second, maybe it isn't welcome now, maybe Raylan only wants it when he needs it. His fear fades like smoke, because Raylan is kissing him back, and pulling him close. 

They get up soon after that and walk back to their trucks, skirting the edges of the party. Boyd sees his cousin Johnny waving at him, trying to get them to come over, but their appearance at the moment probably can't stand too much scrutiny. And anyway, Boyd doesn't want to be around anyone else right now. He waves at Johnny like he thought he was just saying goodbye and walks on. 

They reach Raylan's truck first and Boyd asks, "You really okay to drive?" Raylan just looks at him like he can't believe he's asking, so Boyd shrugs and says, "Alright, then. Guess I'll see you..."

"Boyd. Don't make it any weirder than it is. I'll see you soon, just like always, right?"

Boyd raises an eyebrow at him, and he snorts. 

"Well, okay, maybe not _just_ like always," he says, and Boyd grins.

They see each other again, soon, and often, for the next year. Raylan puts off leaving longer than he had ever expected to, but leave he does. He says he's sorry, he wishes things were different, but they both know how they really are. Raylan asks Boyd to understand, and he does. He really does, but that doesn't help a bit. 

2002

"Raylan!" Winona's voice carries from the front door to the garage, where Raylan is busy clearing out everything they aren't planning to bring with them to Miami. 

He's covered in sweat and dust, and really wants to just get the task finished. He considers ignoring her the first time, pretending he hadn't heard, but things had been tense enough just lately that he's afraid to risk it. 

"Hang on!" he calls, taking a few seconds to rinse his hands off at the kitchen sink before walking towards the front of the small house. 

Raylan stops abruptly about halfway down the hall. Winona is turned around and smiling questioningly at him, and standing at the door was a man he had never expected to see again. The question of whether he'd wanted to was far too complicated for him to figure out in that moment, but Boyd is grinning at him like they'd just seen each other last week. 

He walks a little more slowly towards the door where Boyd is standing with an open attitude, arms loose at his side - looking like Boyd always had, just a little older, a bit more forehead showing, but Raylan thinks it suits him.   
Boyd's grin is as contagious as it always had been, and Raylan shines one right back at him just before Boyd reaches an arm up and pulls him into a hard embrace, clasping his hand. He doesn't so much shake it as squeeze it, his warm, dry palm sliding against Raylan's, still slightly damp from the sink, and it feels like home.

They pull back from the hug, Boyd moving his hand down from Raylan's shoulder and grasping above his elbow for a second before letting go entirely. He laughs and says, "Shoot, boy, you look like you just finished a shift at the mine. What you been doin'?"

All the places were Boyd had touched him feel as if they're vibrating, but he ignores it and replies, "Moving. What the hell are you doing here, Boyd?"

"Passing through on my way to Miami. I got some matters to take care of down there, but I heard you were here and it was on the way. I couldn't see just driving past and not saying hey."

Raylan knows better than to inquire further in that vein, so he makes introductions, leaving out the part about how he and Boyd used to screw in Bo Crowder's hunting cabin, and in the back of Raylan's truck, and in sleeping bags in the woods, and anywhere else they'd managed to find a little privacy. 

He also omits the part about how leaving Boyd behind had felt like losing a limb, for a very long time after.

Winona knows there are men in his past, he'd told her that when they were first together. She hadn't seemed too bothered by it, but she'd never wanted to hear specifics, and he'd said it was just a sex thing. Mostly, that was how it had been, but he'd never said a word about Boyd. She doesn't know there had been a... 

At this point, Raylan's thought process grinds to a halt, because he doesn't know what to call it. They'd never put a name to it, but if they'd been older, or maybe if they'd grown up in a different kind of place, he supposes they would have called themselves boyfriends. 

He knows that's what they were. They'd been closer than he had been with any of the girls he'd dated back then, or since, with the exception of Winona. It had been enough to hold him in Harlan for at least a little while, and that was saying something.   
Winona is smiling at Boyd and inviting him to dinner, and Raylan suddenly feels nervous. He’s not at all sure that he wants Boyd here, not sure that he can play this game all evening, and still unclear on Boyd’s reasons for coming to his house. Surely, if he’d just wanted to get in touch, to say hi, he could have found other opportunities for doing that. 

He can’t overrule her though, not without making things weird, which would defeat the purpose. So he smiles, says he’s going to leave off packing for the day and goes to to shower off, rushing through it because he’s half-terrified that Boyd is going to spill everything to Winona. 

When he returns to the kitchen, Winona is leaning against the counter with a glass of wine in her hand, and Boyd is seated on one of the kitchen chairs with a beer in his hand, slouching down and grinning like they’d just been laughing about something - Raylan has to assume it’s him. 

“Raylan,” Winona says, smiling at him in that way she has when she wants him to do something for her, “we’re almost out of bourbon, and I think another bottle of wine would be a good idea. I’m going to use half of this one in the food. Maybe you and Boyd could both go, give you a chance to catch up, and me a chance to get dinner started?”

Raylan thinks that’s an excellent idea, so he nods and walks over to give her a kiss on the cheek. She frowns at him like he’s being funny, and says, “Thanks, honey.”

As soon as they get in Raylan’s car, he turns to Boyd and says, “She doesn’t know anything about you.”

Boyd snorts and replies, “Yeah, I somehow managed to pick up on that, Raylan. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna air your super secret queer dirty laundry. That ain’t my place.”

“She already knows about that,” he says, and Boyd looks surprised. “She just doesn't know about _you_.”

“Well, now,” Boyd says, looking thoughtful. “And why is that, Raylan?”

Raylan tightens his grip on the steering wheel and grinds his teeth, then lets out a hard sigh through his nose. “Just never got into details with her. Don’t think she wanted to know.”

Boyd just says, “Alright,” but Raylan can tell he doesn't believe him, or doesn't believe that was why. 

They pick up the stuff Winona asked for, plus another six-pack of beer, and when they get back to the house they’re greeted with the smell of sauteing onions and herbs. Raylan pours drinks for himself and Boyd, and opens the bottle of wine for Winona. He can’t help wondering how much they’re all going to be drinking this evening, and if that might, in fact, be a terrible idea. 

Winona is a good cook, though she doesn't make the kind of food Raylan grew up with, and in the beginning that was one of the things he loved about her. Though she came from Kentucky, she held herself apart from it, and that was what he wanted to do also. What he has come to realize, however, is that it never was a part of her, the way it is in him. Cutting that cord was never a problem for her, but he has still not managed to do it cleanly.

She serves them cassoulet, comfort food from an entirely different place. They drink and talk, but Raylan mostly speaks when one of them asks a question or seems to demand a reaction. 

Winona asks how old they were when they became friends. 

Boyd smiles, and it's already a little loose with drink. He says, "Fourteen. We made friends at a church picnic."

Raylan can't look at him, because he's pretty sure he'll see his own reaction to the memory mirrored in Boyd's face. 

His mind calls it up without any trouble. Boyd Crowder, a scrawny kid he'd barely known, but of whom he'd always had an odd awareness of, showing him this unexpected kindness. Offering him something like he'd known just what was needed.   
Boyd is asking her polite questions about where she'd met Raylan, and about the various places they'd lived, but Raylan is barely conscious of the conversation. 

It is surreal to have Boyd Crowder in his house, talking to his wife. If he's real honest with himself, which he allows himself to be for just a second before shutting the thought down, it's strange and surprisingly difficult to have him sitting so close but be unable to touch him. 

They'd never broken up, because they were never officially together, whatever that really means. Raylan had just said he had to go, and then not long after, he was gone. 

His last night in town, they'd gotten together and fooled around like always, and talked like always, and the only indication that they might never see each other again was that, before they'd gotten into their separate trucks, Boyd had pulled him into a hug, and they’d stood there like that for a little while, their faces buried in each other's necks. 

That was the last contact they'd had for nearly twelve years, and when he looks at Boyd, he knows it would be welcome still. Raylan can see it, can feel it coming off him, and he’s pretty sure Boyd can feel it coming back at him. He hopes Winona can’t.   
Winona is saying, “I just can’t imagine Raylan working in a coal mine! It’s like you’re talking about a completely different person.”

Boyd’s face changes just slightly, and Raylan’s not sure if anyone else would notice, but there’s a spark in his eye as he says, “I can’t speak to how different he is now, as I have not seen him in such a very long time, but he never did belong down in that hole. How he managed to stay as long as he did, I can't begin to guess.” He looks over at Raylan now, and smiles at him with just his eyes. 

Raylan shifts and looks at Winona. “I couldn't imagine myself doing that either, darlin', once I stopped." 

He knows what he's saying, and how Boyd hears it, and it's both a lie and the absolute truth all at once. He says it out of some kind of loyalty to her, to her perception of himself that he's tried so hard to make both of them believe for the past seven years, even though he knows she's just thinking of the mine. 

When he glances back at Boyd, the smile is gone and he's pouring himself another inch of Makers Mark. He says, "I ain't been down there in quite some time myself, but I still dream about it. Some things you can't shake off so easy. It's like a foreign language you knew when you were a kid. You can't recall the vocabulary when you're awake, but it's still in there somewhere deep."

The room seems very quiet as he speaks, with only the low strains of a sad song about addiction and loss coming from the CD player on the sideboard to serve as a backdrop. 

Winona is watching him intently, then seems to shake herself a little before saying, "It's getting pretty late. You're not driving anywhere, Boyd. There's a sofa bed in the office. I'll just grab some sheets for you before I head up to bed."  
"I wouldn't want to put you out," he says quietly. 

"Don't be ridiculous. It's no bother at all," she says, though she seems uncomfortable in a way she hadn’t just a few minutes earlier. 

"I'll get the sheets, honey," Raylan says. "You go on, I'll be right up."

She smiles a little too brightly and says, "Okay, thanks. It's been really nice meeting such an old friend of Raylan's, Boyd. In case I don't see you before I leave in the morning, I'll say goodbye now."

“It’s lovely to have met you, Winona. Thank you for the delicious meal and your hospitality.” 

Boyd stands when Winona gets up, but Raylan stays seated at the table. He looks up and says, “You don’t have to stay just ‘cause she says so, you know.”

Boyd frowns. “I can go if you really need me to, Raylan, but I have had quite a lot to drink.”

Raylan sighs and shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I... never mind.” He stands then starts to walk out of the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll get you those sheets and show you where the bed is.”

Boyd follows him into the hallway and leans against the wall as Raylan retrieves sheets, a blanket and a pillow from a linen closet. Raylan can feel his eyes on his back, or so he imagines. Regardless, he knows they’re there. They move on into the small office off the living room and Raylan hands the pile of bedclothes to Boyd and starts pulling the cushions from the couch. He yanks on the bar and drags the bed out, then turns to Boyd, who is still watching him and hasn’t said a word since they left the kitchen.

“Why did you come here?” Raylan asks in what he hopes is an even tone. 

“It’s like I said. Passing through, and I knew you were here. I had to see you.”

“You knew I was married, didn’t you? What did you-”

Boyd advances on him quickly and puts his hand on Raylan’s forearm. “You think the only reason I’d want to see you is to screw around? You think that’s the only reason I hung around you back then?”

Raylan doesn’t answer, because he’s not really listening too hard anymore. He’s staring at Boyd’s hand on his arm and standing completely still. Boyd is far too close, he must realize that. He also seems to be sucking up all the air, because Raylan’s not breathing properly. He looks up at Boyd’s face, and they’re staring at each other, and he knows that all he’d have to do is reach out. Boyd would let him. He could kiss him, touch him, Boyd would put his hands all over him if he said it was alright. 

But of course, he can’t do that. He can’t do any of that, because he’s with Winona, she’s right upstairs, and she’s been so distant lately, which Raylan knows is his fault. He already feels guilty, on account of being an asshole, he doesn’t need to add cheating to that load. 

He swallows hard, shakes his head slowly and backs up a step. Boyd puts his hands in his pockets and looks down. “I apologize, Raylan,” he says softly, “I truly did not come here for that. I only wanted to... It’s been a long time. I didn’t even know if it would still be that way.”

“I gotta go up, now. The bed’s pretty uncomfortable, sorry about that.” 

He turns to go, and Boyd says, “Good night, Raylan.” 

“Night,” he mutters back, then trudges up the stairs to his bedroom.

Winona is in bed with the covers pulled up, turned away, looking like she's pretending to sleep. Raylan brushes his teeth, then slides under the covers. He feels guilty about touching her after what he's been thinking about all evening, but somehow he feels just as guilty not touching her. 

He slides close and wraps an arm around her waist, but she doesn't respond. He can tell she's awake, though. He kisses the back of her neck, and her whole body stiffens up. 

"I do something to piss you off?" he says, feeling a little stung.

She doesn't answer, so he lets go of her and rolls in the other direction. After awhile, a few minutes at least, she says, "We haven't had sex in almost two weeks, Raylan. Why tonight?"

"Uh... maybe because we haven't had sex in almost two weeks? Or, I dunno, because we've been drinking? Suddenly I gotta have a reason to want to have sex with my wife?" Her question has caught him off guard, and he doesn't understand what she's getting at. 

"Raylan, I'm not sure just how clueless you think I am, but do you really think I didn't notice the way he was looking at you? Or the way you looked after he hugged you? He sits there talking about dreaming in foreign languages like thats going to go right over my head."

Raylan's heart is beating hard and he does not want to answer her. He knows she won't believe a lie, but he doesn't want to speak the truth either. He doesn't want to talk about it at all. 

Winona waits him out, until he finally says, "I didn't lie to you, Winona. Boyd was my friend, my best friend, and nothing else, for many years. It wasn't until after high school that... but Winona, I didn't ask him to come here. And what did you want me to do? Tell you as he was comin' in the door, after you invited him to dinner - without asking me first, I might add."

Winona makes an exasperated noise and says, "No, Raylan. What I would have wanted you to do was tell me about him a long time ago. You'd never even mentioned him as a friend, which by the way was another pretty clear indication that something wasn't right."

"Like you would have wanted to hear it," Raylan snaps, suddenly more angry than he knows he has any right to be. "You were so goddamn proud of yourself for being _fine_ with it, but no extraneous information, please. Don't make it real for me, please."

"Oh, fuck you! You didn't want to talk about it any more than I wanted to hear it. And anyway, Raylan, you told me about a couple of random hookups. Why would I need the specifics about that? This man was your best friend from the time you were fourteen until you left Harlan at 19 - he was obviously important to you."

"That's all in the past. It doesn't matter. It doesn't affect anything."

"Why did you take so long getting up here?"

 _"What?_

"You heard me," she says coldly.

"First of all, I didn't really feel like I did take that much time. Second, I took a few minutes get the fucking sheets and say good night."

"Okay."

"Are you seriously accusing me of something here? Because I'm about to get very fucking pissed off, if so." He's already pissed off, which he is sure she's well aware of. 

"I don't know, Raylan. You already had a hard-on when you snuggled up to me. That hasn't happened since the third year we were married, I don't think. _Something_ got you going."  
"I didn't do a goddamn thing," he says quietly, through clenched teeth. 

"Maybe you just wanted to, then," she replies, equally quiet. 

"Maybe I did. You gonna police my desires now? Jesus Christ, Winona. I can't control that any more than you can. You want me to tell you to stop going to Russell Crowe movies?"

When she doesn't laugh at all, Raylan knows this is going to be a bad one. He's been teasing her about him since they'd gone to see L.A. Confidential on their third date. He doesn't even think she really likes him that much, but it almost always makes her giggle.   
"I want a divorce."

"You want... what? What the hell are you talking about? Over this?" He knows it isn't. He knows it's over whatever's been going on with her, whatever she's unsatisfied with in him, in their marriage. It feels a lot easier, suddenly, if it could just be about this.  
"Don't act stupid, you know it's not over this. Raylan... I slept with someone else."

He takes a moment to process this information, not moving, not reacting, because he knows very well what's inside of him. He knows the reaction that's been stamped in him, to a piece of news - or even a suspicion - such as this.   
When he finally responds, he keeps his voice steady and low, but he's fairly sure he sounds terrifying. He doesn't intend to, but he has never felt so angry in his life. 

"Who?" 

"Gary Hawkins," she answers in a whisper.

"Who the fuck is that?" he grinds out, staring at her.

"Jesus, Raylan," Winona says, huffing out a teary laugh. "The realtor who's listing our house? You just saw him on Saturday, remember? You really don't give a shit about what's going on in our life, do you?"

Raylan's eyes go wide and furious, and he says, "I give a shit that you fucked the goddamn realtor! Really, Winona? _That_ guy?" Raylan makes a disgusted sound.

"Oh, I'm sorry Raylan. You don't find him attractive? I guess maybe we don't share the same taste in men, then, because I can't say I find your old hillbilly boyfriend all that appealing either!"

Raylan gets up and picks up his clothes from where he dropped them by the bed. He pulls them on as he starts talking. 

"You know what, I'm through talking to you. You're gonna sit there and give me shit because I didn't tell you about something from _years_ before we met, trying to, what, shame me about it because you damn well know it's not something I feel comfortable with, when all the while you've been fucking around and letting this marriage die. Fuck you."

"I've been letting it die!" Winona sounds on the verge of hysteria. "You might want to think about what you're saying here, Raylan, think about the reality of the situation."

"That's all I am thinking about right now. The reality of you and that greasy, grinning weasel in bed together. Did you fuck him in this bed?"

Winona is crying hard now and doesn't answer. Raylan is dressed now, and he walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He walks down the stairs and out the front door, over to the pair of Adirondack chairs in the yard.   
He sits with his head in his hands, his whole body throbbing with adrenaline and rage. He's just barely begun to rein himself in, when he hears footsteps approaching. 

He knows it's Boyd, and realizes he's been expecting him to come out here anyway. He doesn't lift his head yet, though, just stays there as Boyd sits next to him. Boyd doesn't say anything for a long time, but after a minute he puts his hand on Raylan's back. Raylan takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long, shuddering sigh. 

"Why did you come here today, Boyd?" Raylan asks again. 

"You keep asking me that like I got a different answer to give, Raylan. I just missed you, okay? Don't you ever miss me?"

Raylan nods slowly, distractedly, and says, "She figured out who you are. What we did."

Boyd snorts and repeats, "What we did. You make it sound like we robbed a bank together. We didn't do nothing wrong. Why didn't you ever tell her about me, if you told her about other men?"

"I couldn't," Raylan mumbles.

"Why?"

Raylan looks up at the moon and sighs heavily. "I didn't want to talk about it like it was nothing."

"And you thought if you told her it was _something_ , she wouldn't have been so open-minded?"

"I guess."

Boyd nods. "It was definitely something."

"Yes, it was." 

Boyd slides his hand off of Raylan's back and stands up. "Come on," he urges, "Let's go for a walk." 

Raylan gets up and follows him without thinking, without wondering why. They walk in silence for awhile, and eventually Raylan says, "I guess I'm getting divorced. She wants a divorce."

"I hope I wasn't a contributing factor in that," Boyd replies after a moment.

"You being here just gave her an excuse to get pissed off and tell me. She's fucking someone else."

Boyd looks at him up and down, laughs a little and says, "I can't help feeling concerned about her mental state."

Raylan gives him a wry look. "If I thought it was about that, I might agree, considering who the other guy is."

Boyd sighs. "I'm sorry, Raylan. That all sounds extremely trying." 

Raylan snorts softly and shakes his head. They're at the end of the street, where there's a small playground with a few swings and a climbing structure. Raylan pauses and looks at it, thinking that when they moved to this neighborhood, they'd imagined having a kid to bring to this place.

Boyd is watching him, his features uncharacteristically soft with sympathy, and suddenly Raylan feels Boyd's hand slip into his. He's tugging him toward a bench on the edge of the little park. 

They hadn't exactly been the hand-holding type of couple back in Harlan. Raylan hadn't remembered, when Boyd had shook his hand, why it felt so specifically familiar, but he did now. They were always pulling at each other, wanting the other to _hurry up, come on boy, get over here._

His heart speeds up a little now from the association, the recalled excitement of those days, where each time felt like a little gift because it was all so unlikely and, they both knew, so temporary. 

"Come on, Raylan," he says, sounding just like he had at those times, and Raylan stops walking. 

He grips Boyd's hand tighter and pulls him back, pulls him in close, and says, "No, you come here." 

Boyd draws in a breath and goes to him; he tastes the same, kisses the same, but he feels different - harder, stronger, older. No matter. Raylan wants him just the same, and he lets Boyd drag him down to the ground. 

Raylan hooks his leg over Boyd's knee and wraps an arm over his waist. Boyd works a hand under his shirt, runs his fingers over the lean abs and up to his chest, pausing to rub at a nipple until Raylan shudders and bites him on the jaw.   
Raylan rolls on top and lies chest to chest with Boyd, strong arms on either side of him, and kisses him slowly, thoroughly. Boyd reaches down to his hips and holds him as they kiss some more and slide gently against each other. 

"What are we doing?" Raylan whispers once, wide-eyed, and Boyd says, "Ssh. It's okay." Raylan just nods and doesn't ask again because, really, he knows exactly what they are doing, and all the reasons why. He's sure Boyd does too, and he says it's okay, so it must be. 

So he kisses him again, and puts his face in Boyd's neck, and they just keep rubbing. Boyd whispers in his ear. He says Raylan's name, and how good it feels, and asks, "Do you want anything else?" 

Raylan replies, almost incoherently, "No, I like this," and Boyd laughs at him. He says, "Me too," bucks up a little harder and presses his lips into his cheek.

Raylan groans and drags his hips across Boyd's with more pressure, then rubs back and forth faster, feeling it build inside of him. Boyd squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth, searches for Raylan's mouth. He comes as soon as he finds it, riding it out with a muffled grunt, and Raylan follows suit quickly with a sound like the wind's been knocked out of him. 

Raylan rolls onto the ground next to Boyd. "Jesus Christ," he whispers. "What a night."

Boyd props himself up on his elbow and looks at him. "Are you freaking out, Raylan?"

"Kinda. You?"

"No. Surprised, I guess." Boyd runs his hand up and down Raylan's arm. "Can't say I regret it."

"Come on." Raylan sits up and looks at him. "You can't be that shocked. You must have considered the possibility, or you wouldn't be here." 

Boyd frowns uncomfortably. "I wish you wouldn't say that. You can't really believe it's true."

Raylan shrugs and won't meet Boyd's eyes. 

"Raylan, I've thought about you a lot over the last twelve years. Did you think about me sometimes?"

“Yeah, of course I did." Raylan says, suddenly defensive. "It's not like I never wanted to see you again, you know, I just-"

"Raylan, I know," Boyd says quietly. "That's not what I'm getting at. I'm saying, when you thought about me, was _this_ all you remembered?"

"No, but... I did think of it a lot. I don't mean just the... I mean all of it. Being close like this, talking like we used to do. Like we were friends but... more so."

Boyd smiled at that and rolled onto his back. "Friends but more so. That's good, Raylan. That's exactly what we were. But the friend part, on its own, you know, that wasn't something to dismiss out of hand. I missed that just as much as the rest of it."  
Raylan leans over and kisses him, closed-mouthed and soft, then says, "We should probably head back."

Boyd raises his eyebrows and says, "You gonna bunk in with me?"

Raylan shrugs. "Can't think of anything stopping me. Other than that awful goddamn sofa bed. Of course, Winona might be pissed..."

"We'll keep our clothes on," he says, winking, and Raylan laughs. 

Back at the house, Raylan rummages in the laundry room and finds two pairs of sweatpants. He is aware of how weird it is to be going to bed with Boyd in the same house where his wife sleeps upstairs. He is still too angry at the mere thought of her to consider her feelings about it, and the idea feels comforting to him, anyway. 

They turn out the light and get under the blanket. They turn in opposite directions to sleep, but Boyd reaches back and lays a hand on Raylan's hip for a minute. He says, "You okay?"

"Surprisingly well, at this exact moment. We'll see about tomorrow when it gets here."

They say good night and go to sleep. 

The next morning, Winona is out of the house before Raylan or Boyd wakes up. She's left a full pot of coffee on, which Raylan supposes he could take as a peace offering of sorts, if he so chooses. 

They sit drinking it on the front steps, and after a minute, Boyd says, "I know you have good reasons not to ask me what I'm going to Miami for. Seeing as how you're about to head down there yourself for very different purposes."

"Boyd..." Raylan says with a tone of warning in his voice, though he doesn't think Boyd should need it. He should know better.

"It's alright, I ain't gonna tell you anything. I just wanted to assure you that this is not going to be a regular occurrence for me. I'm doing it as a favor to Daddy, as he is currently indisposed."  
Raylan rolls his eyes. "He's in prison, huh?"

"At the present time, I am sorry to say that he is incarcerated, yes." He doesn't sound sorry.

"But you ain't running things, even though he's inside," Raylan asks, then wishes he hadn't.

Boyd doesn't answer this time, and Raylan doesn't press. When he does speak, he says, “You got an address, where you’re moving to in Miami?”

“Yeah, I got a place lined up. But... I don’t know that it’s a great idea for either one of us for you to pay me any visits.” Raylan is staring into his coffee. 

Boyd smiles with his mouth, but his eyes are troubled. “I would unfortunately have to agree with you on that, Raylan. I was thinking about lines of communication. Thought maybe I’d send you a letter now and again.”  
“I’m a terrible letter-writer, Boyd. Even if I wrote it, it’d end up sitting around forever before I mailed it, if I ever did.”

Boyd snorts. “Well, you could just not do that. Make a choice for the better.”

Raylan gives him a sidelong glance, wondering if there’s any way he’s not hearing what he’s saying. “I know my limitations. Anyway, what about e-mail? Not my work email, but I have a personal one that I barely use. You can get in touch that way if you want.”  
Boyd is quiet for a few moments, looking lost in thought. “Alright,” he says finally, “write it down for me.”

Raylan brings their cups in while Boyd has a cigarette. He's putting some dishes from the night before into the dishwasher when Boyd comes up behind him. He stands so close that Raylan can feel the heat from his body all down his back.   
Boyd's hand slides up and around to his stomach, under his shirt. His lips press against the back of his neck, and there's no way Raylan can tell him to stop, or push him away. He doesn't move, just stands there with a dirty plate in his hand and lets Boyd push his nose into the hair on the back of his head, lets him slip his hand into the waistband of his sweats and wrap his fingers around his cock, rough and soft in different places. 

He puts the plate down and turns around, kissing Boyd's mouth as he puts his arms around him. "Why did you come here?" he asks one more time, and Boyd smiles against his lips. 

"I came for this, Raylan. That what you wanted to hear? Didn't really think I'd get it though." 

Boyd leans into him, hand still down the front of his pants and stroking him. Raylan puts his hand over Boyd's wrist and says, "I think we can do better than hand jobs in the kitchen. Come on.” 

He pulls at Boyd’s hand and they walk into the den where the bed is still pulled out. Raylan sits on the edge and Boyd climbs on top of him. Raylan holds him by the waist and leans back as Boyd kisses him, slow and deep now, not so frenzied as the night before, and promising much more. 

Boyd sits back on his heels and slides Raylan’s pants down to his ankles. Raylan kicks them off, looks at Boyd’s face and laughs a little. “What?” Boyd asks. 

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning, that’s all. Early for us,” he says, grinning. He reaches up and grabs at Boyd’s waistband, shoving the sweats down, then pulling up at his shirt, trying to get it over his head. Boyd grabs his hands and pushes them back down, leaning in to kiss him some more. 

Raylan’s hands are at his hips, digging in. He says, “We got time, Boyd. We don’t gotta worry about someone comin’ up on us with a shotgun here. Come on, boy, lets get naked.”

Boyd just shakes his head and kisses him again, then moves swiftly down his body. Raylan isn’t worried about getting Boyd’s shirt off anymore, because Boyd's mouth is on him, and he hasn't felt that in twelve years, since the day before he left Harlan, and god, it is so good. 

It's so good that it occurs to him to wonder if Boyd's had a boyfriend or two in the time since Raylan left town. Seems unlikely in Harlan, but maybe he went out of town for that. He realizes that he hopes it's true, thinks maybe he'll ask him later.   
Boyd is pulling at him with his mouth, and it feels like his tongue is wrapped around it, and he's holding on because he doesn't want to look like he's crap in bed but holy fuck. Winona does not suck cock like that. 

It gets better, somehow, as he goes along, and it's like everything in his world is centered in his dick right now, and it's all just fucking perfect. It starts to hit him, he's going over the top, and he can hear himself, he's making ridiculous noises, and Boyd's mouth is going a mile a minute on him, and as he comes he can feel Boyd's fingers on his legs, splayed out there, masculine but beautiful. The sound he makes is a helpless one; he is defenseless against this.   
Boyd comes up to kiss him again as soon as he is done, and his mouth is soft and warm. "Raylan," he says, "It's my turn." 

Raylan does not need to be told. He's pushing up Boyd's shirt again and kissing him on the stomach, on his chest, and he really wants nothing more than to be skin to skin with him, touch him all over. It's been so long, and they never had many chances for that anyway. 

He tries to push the shirt up his arms, and Boyd resists again. "Fuck that," he says, "Come on, Raylan, please. I sucked you off real nice, didn't I?"

"You did," Raylan says, "I just want to see all of you, Boyd."

Boyd is looking at him like he's asking a favor, so Raylan shrugs and goes down to suck his dick. He wants to make it beautiful for Boyd like it was for him, but he's not sure his skills are up to that level. It's not like he's been with that many men, and not for a long time. 

Boyd is responding to him, though, he's moaning and rubbing fingers through his hair, so maybe it's good enough. Boyd is talking, of course. He always talks, and when they were young he would talk all through sex, conversational-like, about his life philosophies, religion, politics, books he was reading. He'd keep it up until he couldn't anymore, at which point he'd be reduced to repeating Raylan's name over and over in the filthiest tone you could imagine. 

Right now, he's talking about the roads that life leads you down, the sideshows and the scenic trails and some shit like that, which Raylan really cannot imagine being able to articulate while getting his dick sucked. 

Just before Boyd loses it, he says something about not all paths being righteous ones, but all journeys having value, and then he's just saying _Raylan, Raylan, oh shit Raylan_ and coming in Raylan's mouth. He gags a little, but holds it together. It really has been a long time.

When Raylan comes back up to flop next to him on the thin mattress, Boyd turns to him and embraces him, pushing his face into Raylan's neck. Raylan puts an arm around his back and they stay there for awhile, until Raylan starts to feel slightly concerned.   
"Boyd? You alright?"

Boyd sighs and says, "There's something I need to tell you. To show you. You ain't gonna like it at all, and I would put the chances of you never speaking to me again, after, at around 50%."

"Jesus, Boyd. I already know you're... that you ain't always on the right side of the law. If its something that serious, maybe I'm not the person to-"

"Raylan, no," he interrupts, "It ain't exactly that." 

He sits up and pulls his shirt off. Raylan's eyes go straight to his left shoulder, where a jet black, vivid, _large_ swastika was tattooed on his skin.

Raylan is breathing harder than he should be, and he feels utterly disgusted. He can't even figure out what it means, why Boyd would have such a thing. He never said anything about hating Jews or blacks back when they were in school. Boyd reads books, he's smart, he could never believe such bullshit. 

And then he knows. Of course, he knows, and it doesn't make it a damn bit better. 

Boyd is looking at him sadly, can probably read everything in his face. He can't feel bad for him at the moment, though. All he feels is sick. 

"I'm guessing your cohorts in whatever this is ain't aware of all the all the cock you musta been sucking for the last twelve years, to get as good as you are." Raylan is sneering at him, he feels duped, like Boyd took advantage of him, which he knows is stupid.   
Boyd is just sitting there, looking back at him, not dropping his gaze. "I can understand how you feel about this, Raylan."

"You made sure I sucked your dick before you showed me that shit, didn't you, asshole? You knew I wouldn't think of touching it with that thing on you." Raylan is up on his feet now, pulling on clothes. "I should have fucking known. You..." Raylan feels his throat constricting, and that's just fucking perfect. Not that it doesn't make complete sense, considering everything, but there is no way he's going to cry in front of Boyd. 

"Raylan," Boyd says softly, "this ain't who I am. You know that."

"You're a goddamn con artist, is what you are, Boyd," he says roughly. "Don't think I don't know it. That ain't better. It might even be worse."

Boyd gets up and walks very slowly in Raylan's direction. "You can judge me, Raylan. I won't take that from many people, but you have that privilege, on account of what we were to each other. Because of what you _meant_ to me. I knew that you would judge me harshly, and maybe you're right to do that. The irony is not lost on me. I know that the kind of hate I traffic in could blow back on me at any time."

Raylan leans in the doorway and looks at him impassively. "Well. You got what you came here for. No reason to be hangin' around."

Boyd is standing about a foot away from him now. Raylan turns to leave the room, and Boyd reaches out, grasps his arm. 

Raylan tries to shake him off, but Boyd holds tight. "Listen to me, Raylan. I know it's ugly. I know you don't like being able to see it, in your face like that, but it really ain't so different from what you already thought of me."

"Jesus, I bet you're real fucking good at it too," Raylan says, like Boyd hadn't said a word. "I bet you get those assholes all whipped up, talkin' about the niggers and the towel heads and the zionists and, lets not forget, the godless homosexuals who're bent on turning the country into Sodom and Gomorrah. You tell 'em about all the personal research you did on that one?" 

Boyd holds his arm for another second or two, staring into his eyes. Then he loosens his grip, and Raylan walks out. He sits in the kitchen and waits for Boyd to leave.

Raylan can hear him moving around, stowing the sofa bed, zipping up his bag. Boyd walks down the hallway and pauses at the door to the kitchen, looking somberly at Raylan. 

He says, "You can think less of me, you can be disgusted with me, even hate me if that's how it is. But don't assign ulterior motives to my coming to see you. I came because I missed you so much, because I still have warmth and good feeling for you in my heart. I haven't forgotten anything, Raylan. Not a minute of our time together. Seeing you now isn't something I can be sorry for, even if you never speak to me again."

Raylan has nothing to say. He just looks at Boyd, grits his teeth and waits for him to leave. After a moment, Boyd nods, and walks out the front door. Raylan could cry now, if he wanted to, but the tears never come. It’s been too long since he’s done that, he seems to have forgotten how. In the end, he grabs a beer and goes out to finish the job in the garage.


	2. Hardly Catch It Going

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Boyd get some distance and start to come to an understanding.

The first message that Boyd sends to the e-mail address he'd found, snooping around Raylan's computer in the room where they'd slept, reads as follows:

_"A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep."  
-Saul Bellow_

_Yesterday was Sunday, and I woke up with a strong desire to go to church. Not being one to deny myself many of my strong desires, I went._

_I sat and listened to the preacher talk to me about sin - because, what else does he ever talk about? - and I thought of all the sin in my own life. I suppose that's the idea, isn't it? To reflect._

_I thought about confession and forgiveness, and wondered if perhaps the papists got it right, in this respect. I would not, of course, choose to confess to the servant of a God I do not believe in, but I feel nonetheless that confession may be good for the soul._

_I have confessed and been judged by you, Raylan. I can only hope that forgiveness will soon follow._

Boyd returns to the public library in London - which he figures is far enough to avoid curiosity - two weeks later, and finds this message in his inbox:

_"Everyone has the power to say, 'This I am today. That I shall be tomorrow.'"  
-Louis L'Amour_

_I am not your priest, Boyd. I do not have the power to absolve you of anything. Only you can do that. You talked about the Catholics, but in my understanding, confession only works if you stop doing the thing you confessed to. I won't hold my breath._

He returns to the library a week later and sends this message: 

_"If you and I are no different, what do we have to give each other? How can we ever be friends?"  
-Christopher Isherwood_

_There was that one time we could have chosen differently, remember? We didn't. I can't say whether we should have or not, only that I know the choice was real in that moment. I'd live in that moment, if I could._

There is no answer when he returns the following week, nor the next. He waits two more weeks before going back, and when he does, there is a message waiting for him. 

_I can't win a quote war with you, so I won't try. Yes, I remember the time you meant. You may have had a choice, or thought you did, but I never did. As far as that moment goes, I wouldn't want to live in it. All it felt like to me was the end of something._

Boyd blinks at the screen for only a few seconds before typing an answer. 

_"Only the magic and the dream are true - all the rest's a lie." - Jean Rhys_

_It's not a war, Raylan. I only use other people's words in order to illuminate, perhaps because mine feel inadequate, or perhaps I think you'll believe others before you believe me. In any case, it's not necessary from you, because you always say what you mean, or you say nothing at all. It might be your finest quality._

_It was the end of something. Did you already know it then? Was that because you always knew it was coming?_

Boyd comes back two weeks later to find two messages waiting for him. The first one was sent the same day that Boyd sent his previous one. It says:

_I knew it because I knew you. And like I said, I never had a choice. The choice was all yours, you held the cards, all I could do was what I was always going to do. You knew that and you chose something else. And it's fine, I understand it completely. But please, don't talk to me about magic and dreams, and moments where we had choices. The only choices that exist are the ones we already made. All of them, including the ones that led to you having that evil fucking ink on your arm._

_What do you want from me, Boyd? Just tell me that, please, so I can decide if it's something I can give._

The next message was sent eight days later, and it says:

_Are you not answering me because you don't know what to say? Or are you just playing head games?_

Boyd smiles at that and replies:

_I want some new choices to make._

He doesn't answer the question about head games, but he returns to the library the very next day and this is waiting:

_I can't say I'm loving Miami yet. I'm not sure it's the best place for a man of my disposition._

_Winona has already served me with divorce papers. We just need to sell the house and split the money, and that's it. That shouldn't take long, as the realtor is highly motivated. I'm not entirely sure what my feelings are about the whole thing. I'm angry, and that's all I can feel right now, about that._

_What's the weather like in Harlan? Is it cooling down yet?_

This is the first message from Raylan that gives him pause. This is Raylan's way of offering him a choice, of allowing something to begin. It's a dangerous choice for both of them to make, and Raylan must know that as well as Boyd does. 

He types:

_We had an early cold snap this year, but it has gotten warm again for a spell. I've been spending a lot of time outdoors._

_I can offer you no advice about your marital situation, or lack thereof, but I am sorry for your troubles. I hope it is resolved swiftly and you can move on._

_Miami is not a place that could ever feel like home to me, nor indeed, I imagine, to you. But maybe it's where you need to be right now. Perhaps all that sunshine will burn off some of your anger. Maybe you can wash it away in the ocean._

_I saw your aunt Helen at the market a few days ago. She's looking well. I asked her about you just to see what she'd say, and she told me she hadn't heard from you in a year. Not that it's my business, but she'd probably like to know that you moved and are getting divorced._

Boyd stays away for a little over a week this time, not because he wants to mess with Raylan, but because he feels exposed. 

Raylan's response is this:

_I'll call Helen when I'm good and ready, thanks. And you might think twice about asking her about me again. She totally knows about us. Makes no real difference to me, but it might bother you._

_I took what I assume was your advice and went to the beach. Two guys tried to pick me up, and then a girl and a guy together gave it a shot. I thought about that one, but in the end I went home alone. The idea of fucking a bunch of strangers is exhausting to me._

_I did enjoy the ocean, though. Maybe I'll try a different beach next time._

Boyd puts his hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh that wants to burst out. He closes his eyes and pictures Raylan on the beach, beset on all sides by starry-eyed suitors of both genders, beleaguered by his own irresistible beauty. 

He gets himself under control and composes a new message:

_Raylan. You may have problems, perhaps even some I know nothing of, but too many people wanting to fuck you is not one of those. Maybe you should take a few of them up on it, just to shake off some of that monogamy dust._

Raylan never says whether he takes that advice, but they continue exchanging emails in this way for some months.

Three days before Raylan's birthday, Boyd mails him a plastic fork and a card that reads:

"For pleasure has no relish unless we share it." -Virginia Woolf

Neither does potato salad.

Happy birthday, Raylan.

Your friend,  
Boyd

On Boyd's birthday, he finds an envelope addressed to him, bearing no return address. Inside is a card showing palm trees bedecked with Christmas lights, and inside it is a Polaroid picture, sun-faded and dark at the edges. 

It's the two of them, maybe 16 years old, shirtless, standing waist deep in a creek. Boyd has his head thrown back in laughter, and Raylan is looking at the photographer (one or the other of their girlfriends at the time, presumably) with a smirk. 

Raylan looks as beautiful as he remembers, but he's a little surprised to note his own beauty at that age, something he'd not been the least bit aware of at the time. 

The card reads, "If my forgiveness is still something you want, you can have it. It's not my place to put conditions on that. Happy birthday. Raylan."

Boyd tucks the photograph and the card inside a copy of _The Prince_ before driving over to his cousin Johnny's bar to do some drinking. 

His next email from Raylan doesn't say much. It's just a couple of dates: February 8-February 11, an address in a suburb of Atlanta, and the message, "I'll be there. It's your choice if you'd like to join me."

He replies immediately:

_Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "One of the blessings of old friends is that you can afford to be stupid with them." I hope that's true of us, Raylan, because this may end up being very stupid indeed. Of course I'll be there. I don't believe for a second that you thought otherwise._


	3. A House On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They spend a long weekend together and reconnect.

Raylan flies into Atlanta on Friday morning and rents a car to drive out to the northern suburb where he's staying. It belongs to a Marshal he knows from Glynco who keeps rental properties as a sideline, and he said he'd let Raylan use it for free as long as he leaves it clean. 

He pulls into the driveway of an unassuming ranch-style home on a quiet block. It looks like a place where anything could happen - a happy family could live here, a serial killer could murder people and keep them in a freezer, or a closeted bisexual Marshal could have a tryst with his outlaw ex-boyfriend. 

_Jesus Christ, I have an ex-boyfriend._ He laughs out loud at that thought, even though it's not like he didn't already basically know that. It's weird nonetheless, and his mind still balks at the word. 

There really is no justification for doing this, except that he wants it so badly. However, that appears to be enough for now, because his dick is already half hard and he doesn't even know when Boyd will show up. 

He decides to make a liquor and grocery run, and drives around for a little while before he finds a strip mall that has both. He gets a handle of Jim Beam and a couple of six-packs of Miller. He figures if Boyd wants something fancier, he can bring it himself. 

At the grocery store, he picks up frozen pizzas, a couple of steaks and some potato chips. Again, he thinks, if Boyd wants something else, he'll have to provide it. Winona always did the shopping when they stayed somewhere with a kitchen, he has no idea what sorts of things to buy. They'll probably eat out mostly, anyway.

By the time he gets back and unpacks the meager provisions, it's only one in the afternoon. Raylan doesn't know what to do with himself. He restlessly flips around the channels on the television until he dozes off on the couch.

He wakes up some time later - could be five minutes or two hours, he has no idea - to the sound of an engine close by. He gets up to look and sees a beat up old truck pulling into the drive. 

He watches Boyd sling a duffel bag over his shoulder and amble across the lawn to the front door. _Sexy_. Boyd's jeans are riding low on his bony hips, his ropey biceps flex as he switches the bag to his other shoulder.

Raylan can see his intelligent eyes roving around the place, taking everything in. _Casing it_ , he thinks, then shakes his head in irritation with himself. That shit doesn't matter this weekend. It's not what he and Boyd are about. 

Raylan opens the door and leans against the frame, aiming a lopsided smile at the man walking towards him. Boyd grins back, lighting up his angular face and giving it an honesty that Raylan has to believe is rarely shown to anyone.

Boyd walks up into Raylan's space, leans in close and says, "Goddamn, boy, I'm about to come in my pants just lookin' at you. Let's _go._ "

Raylan moves forward quickly enough to catch his mouth before he moves on, his teeth catching lightly on Boyd's bottom lip. 

Boyd drops his bag at the entrance and walks toward the back of the house. When Raylan doesn't follow, he turns around and tilts his head like he's trying to figure out what the game is. 

Raylan gives him a little smile and stays were he is, leaning against the door. After a moment, Boyd's face splits into a grin, and he walks back to the door. He reaches out to grab Raylan's hand and pulls him in close. "I said," he says real low, "let's go, Raylan."

They walk back to the bedroom together, pulling at each other like they used to, demanding still, but slower now, more deliberate. Things are so different, in so many ways. Both of them have changed a great deal, and yet there is something between them that feels hardly changed at all. 

Boyd pushes him back onto the bed and climbs up over him. He's breathing hard and fumbling at buttons, talking in low tones about how long he's been waiting for this, and how good it's going to be, and how they have all weekend to do everything they want. 

"Boyd... Jesus, do you always have to talk the whole time?" Raylan asks, but he's smiling at him. He likes it, and Boyd knows he likes it. 

"Well, I always want you to know my intentions, Raylan. Right now, I intend to make both of us feel real good." He's got Raylan's shirt unbuttoned and his jeans open, and he's pulling them down over his hips. 

Raylan lets Boyd struggle to undress him for a little while, then finishes the job himself. He's naked, but Boyd is still fully clothed. Raylan reaches for him, pushes up his shirt so Boyd will lift his arms, but he doesn't. 

"I can leave it on," Boyd says, meeting his eyes, and Raylan feels a little bit bad. 

"I should be able to look at it. I need to learn to look at it. I told you no conditions, and that's how it should be." He pushes Boyd's shirt up again, and this time Boyd raises his arms and lets Raylan take it off. 

Boyd leans over him and kisses him, not too gently. Raylan slides his hand down the back of his jeans and runs a finger along the crack of his ass. Boyd chuckles darkly and speaks into Raylan's ear, saying, "You can have what you want, but I ain't gonna be your bitch, Raylan. All kinds of fun to be had, and we're gonna share it out equal."

"Wouldn't have it any other way. Now. Get undressed. Come on." Raylan punctuates that by digging his fingers into Boyd's skin, and gets a grunt and a bite to the shoulder in response. 

Boyd does, and they stretch out next to each other. Raylan's hands never stop moving, and neither does Boyd's mouth. He's talking non-stop, and Raylan hardly hears him after awhile. 

Raylan's eyes are closed now, and he's focused on what he wants to do, which he suddenly wants so badly. He wants to get inside, stake some kind of claim, which he knows is stupid. He knows it doesn't work like that, but that part of his brain is not in charge at the moment.

Boyd's words are mildly challenging now. He's saying things like, "Do not disappoint me, Raylan... we ain't kids no more, you gotta bring it like a man," and Raylan wants to shut him up. He's got most of his hand up inside of Boyd, and he pulls it out quickly, without warning. 

Boyd lets out a sound like the wind has been knocked out of him, and he grabs at Raylan's cock like it's the only thing in the world he wants. 

Raylan pushes him over onto his knees, leans over him and whispers to him, "Now I'm gonna fuck you, boy... gonna make it so you can't ever forget me."

He pushes in, and Boyd rewards him with a low moan as he reaches for himself. Raylan's moving in and out, and it's so good. He grins as Boyd picks up the thread of his monologue. 

"Give me more, Raylan," he's saying, "I can take it. I love it. I love your cock in me, fuck me harder, come on, prove it to me..." His words grow less coherent as Raylan gives him what he's asking for, and he's pumping himself faster, and Raylan can hardly stand it. 

He loses his rhythm, desperately trying to hold out, and then Boyd is saying, "Do it inside of me... want to feel it... want to make you come so hard." 

Raylan utters a quiet but emphatic, "Oh God!" and as he comes he reaches around to pinch Boyd's right nipple, remembering only now how sensitive they always were. Boyd sucks in a hard breath and then his body jerks and shudders, and he groans, then says in a barely audible whisper, "Won't forget you."

Raylan pulls out carefully and lays down next to Boyd. He doesn't trust himself to speak yet, and even Boyd is silent for the moment. After several minutes, he gets up and walks to the bathroom. Raylan hears the shower start, and he lays there listening to it. 

He gets up after another minute or so, walks to the bathroom and leans against the wall. "Hey, Boyd?" he says, and waits for an answer for a few seconds before pulling back the curtain. Boyd is standing under the spray, head down, arm braced on the wall.

He looks up as Raylan watches him, and he says, "We never said what it was we were doing, back then. Couldn't neither of us find the courage to talk about it, so we each just drew our own conclusions and acted accordingly."

"That's true. I think we can see what it was pretty clearly now, though, don't you?"

Boyd looks him squarely in the face and says, "I was in love with you."

Raylan gives him a half-smile and says, "Yeah. That's what I meant."

Boyd kind of laughs and says, "Alright. Well, I don't know what it is we're doing now, what this is or might become. I just don't want to leave anything unsaid this time."

"Not much danger of that from your end," Raylan says, smirking. 

He steps into the shower without asking and crowds in under the water to rinse off. He kisses Boyd on the cheek before stepping out again, leaving him speechless for the second time. 

Later, they fry up the steaks and drink one of the six-packs while they start watching Glory on TNT. When the food is gone, Boyd stretches out on the couch and rests his feet against the side of Raylan's thigh. 

Raylan looks over at him with a lazy smile. "Come on," he says, "Come here." 

Boyd's eyes flash with something heated and joyful, and he moves over sit between Raylan's legs and lean back against him. 

Raylan drapes his arm over him, and they just stay like that for awhile, because the movie is pretty good and they get sort of into it. After some time, during an ad, Raylan's hand starts to move slowly over Boyd's chest, and he lowers his face into his neck. 

Boyd breathes in deep and starts to rub Raylan's thigh, squeezing the muscle. The movie comes back on and they keep watching, but they don't stop the activity of their hands either. 

Raylan's hand drifts lower, to Boyd's stomach, and under his t-shirt. The skin there is very warm, and even warmer where he tucks his hand into the front of his jeans. 

Raylan's erection is pressing into Boyd's spine at an uncomfortable angle, and when he shifts so he can adjust himself, Boyd turns over in his lap. Now he's sitting on him, and they're face to face, and Raylan has lost all interest in the movie. 

He already knows who won that war; everything else is just details. 

Boyd is kissing him, holding Raylan's face in his hands, and Raylan doesn't know, can't think of the last time anyone has overwhelmed him like this. He's not easily overwhelmed; usually he's the one doing that to others, and with very little effort.

Raylan reaches down to unzip Boyd's pants, and pushes his hand inside. Boyd pushes into his touch, and Raylan can feel how excited he is already. 

Boyd has been quiet so far, possibly because there was a pretense of watching the movie, but now he's saying, "I'm so hard for you, Raylan, that's all for you...you just about do me in, son," in between kisses, and Raylan knows just what he means. He feels pretty much done in himself. 

Boyd gets Raylan unzipped, and they push their jeans down just far enough. Raylan pulls Boyd into place and wraps his long fingers around both of them, loosely enough that they can move and slide against each other while they're busy putting their mouths everywhere they can get them. They do this for a long time. 

Raylan's not thinking anymore, everything is what he's feeling, and it's maddening. It's too much, and not enough. He can't quite get there from what they're doing, but it's making him frantic. He doesn't want it to stop, ever, but he needs to come or he's going to go out of his fucking mind.

He squeezes their cocks together and pulls up slowly, and that gets a reaction from Boyd. He groans and says, "Oh shit, do that again." Raylan does. "Faster...keep going..." 

He lowers his head to put his mouth on Raylan's nipple, flicking back and forth with his tongue and rubbing his thumb over the other one. That was never really a thing for him when they were young, not like it was for Boyd, but for some reason that seems to have changed. 

He gets a feeling that vibrates like a guitar string, then seems to tighten from his chest to his dick, like he's being tuned, the longer Boyd does it. It's only just bearable, and his hand is moving so fast over both of them. 

Raylan, who rarely speaks during sex, can't hold back this time, and he whispers, "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh God, it's too much, it's... Boyd, I'm gonna..."

Boyd comes first, as soon as he starts talking, and Raylan's fingers are sliding through it, then through his own as well as he gives over to it. 

Boyd takes his face again in his hands and kisses him, slow and deep as if he's trying to pour something into him, and Raylan takes it in like he's drinking. 

"This ain't nothing, Raylan," he says, a little shaky, when he pulls away. 

"I know," Raylan replies, "I know." He does, but he doesn't say the other thing that he's thinking, which is that what it is, or might be, is dangerous for both of them. Boyd must know that anyway.

They get up and shower, both of them quiet for once, and fall asleep in their rented bed with their hands grasped loosely together. 

They drive into Decatur the next morning and find a breakfast place, neither of them talking a whole lot.

After they order, and have their coffee in front of them, Boyd finally catches Raylan's eye and says, "I know what you're thinking, what you're fretting about. I get it. I'm a planner by nature, but this wasn't something I anticipated. It never was. A time's going to come when we will have to... to address the problematic nature of our relationship. But that ain't today, and it ain't tomorrow."

Raylan sighs and looks down into his coffee. "So...you think we should just pretend we're not who we are?"

Boyd shook his head. "Who we are ain't the problem. It's what we do, Raylan, and who other people think we are."

Raylan gives his head a little shake and won't meet Boyd's eyes. He says, "I thought we could just..." He trails off, not really wanting to finish the sentence. _...just screw around all weekend and then go back to everything being normal._

Boyd apparently doesn't need him to, because he says rather sharply, "Well, it seems we can't. But that don't mean we can't have fun. It doesn't mean we have to be so goddamn serious the whole time, does it?" Raylan just shrugs, and Boyd continues, "Jesus, Raylan. I _like_ you. Don't you remember that we used to laugh all the time? I know it hasn't been a real easy stretch for you, but this is supposed to be a vacation from all that."

Raylan looks at him and smiles, warm and a little sad. "You make me laugh enough this weekend, on top of all that shit we did yesterday, you might never get rid of me."

"Duly noted," Boyd says, and sips his coffee. 

They spend the morning in town, have lunch and then drive back to the house. They find a backgammon board in the top of the coat closet, and both have to relearn the game before they can play. 

Boyd beats him four times in a row and Raylan refuses a fifth game by getting up and walking to the bedroom, stripping off all his clothes and stretching out on the bed. 

Boyd comes in and looks at him in amusement from the doorway. "Trying to find something you might be able to best me at?"

"I was kinda hoping for a tie," Raylan answered, taking himself in hand and stroking it slowly. 

Boyd undresses and lies down next to him, and they fool around lazily for awhile.   
When Boyd goes down on him, it’s every bit as good as he remembers from back in August, when he showed up unannounced and exploded the charges that had already been set in his marriage for some time. It does bring to mind the awful sinking feeling when he saw the tattoo on Boyd's arm, and the reality of what his life had become was brought front and center. 

It's still unsettling, but he's no longer angry about it. He gave up his right to be angry about any of Boyd's choices the day he left Harlan, almost fifteen years before, but it had taken him a little while to understand that. Part of the problem was the weird familiarity, the immediate comfort he felt in the man's presence. 

Now they're here in this strange house in Atlanta - neutral territory, if he wants to think of it that way - and something has happened, is happening, that he was not expecting. Though maybe he should have. There were hints of it even back in Glynco, the affection he felt and the intense physical reaction. He didn't want it, didn't ask for it, but now that it's happening he wouldn't change it. He's loving it so much.

Boyd is sucking him as if there's nothing he'd rather be doing, and maybe that's even true. Raylan closes his eyes and focuses, reaches his hand down to bury it in Boyd's hair, tries not to think anymore. It's not too hard, because Boyd is a talented man. 

After Raylan comes, Boyd kisses him, then moves up quickly over him and straddles his chest. Raylan takes a breath, then lets him push into his mouth. Boyd is bracing himself on the headboard, fucking Raylan's mouth, and Raylan is taking it like they've done this for years. 

They've never done anything like this. They had never fucked either, not back then. It was terrifying enough just kissing each other, giving fumbling hand jobs. When they finally got around to trying oral, they felt like they'd really crossed some kind of line. 

Things are different now because they're grown men, and they've come to terms with their personal sexual identities in their own way, apart from each other. They started out together, but having loved each other for so many years, it had been hard to separate that from who they actually were, and what they really liked. They'd only known they liked each other. 

Raylan has always loved the way men approach sex. He loves the carnality of it, the pure physical connection. The one time he got involved with a man - other than Boyd - who seemed like he wanted more than that, Raylan broke it off quickly. He didn't want that, not from him, anyway. 

He loves the softness of women, the pliable nature of them, even the strongest of them. He sometimes thinks the strongest ones will bend the farthest, though when he truly considers that belief, he thinks it might be something an asshole would say. 

Winona certainly bent quite far before she reached her breaking point.

Boyd, though, he's a category unto himself. He will twist himself into any kind of shape he needs to, for his own purposes, but he will never bend to another man's will. Raylan knows this, has always known it, which is why he thinks Boyd's talk of moments and choices is mostly bullshit. Boyd was never going to do anything but what he wanted to, anymore than Raylan was.

In any case, Raylan is sucking his dick now, letting him thrust into his face, letting Boyd dominate him, really, and all he feels about it is glad. He doesn't get off on being dominated, but he's happy to do it if that's what Boyd wants. He has no idea when they'll get another chance. Maybe Boyd will fuck him later, and the thought of that hits him low in his stomach. Yeah, that's going to happen. 

Raylan is getting into it now, and he starts to grab at Boyd's hips, draw him in, but maybe that's not what he wants. He stretches his arms out and grabs the headboard, surrendering completely, and Boyd moves his hands down to Raylan's wrists. He's pushing them into the headboard, and thrusting harder, his eyes on Raylan's face the whole time. 

Raylan feels safe. He knows Boyd's watching him, knows he'll take his cues. He's choking a little, but he's alright. He angles up to meet Boyd's eyes, but that proves to be a little too much. Boyd pushes forward, crushes Raylan's face for a moment with his hips as he comes, then pulls back. 

Boyd sits, panting, leaning against the headboard. "Are you alright?" he asks. "I think I got a little carried away."

Raylan kisses him, and that's part of his answer. Then he says, "You want something from me, you can try to take it. If you can get it, that means I'm giving it to you."

"Well," Boyd laughs, "That seems like a deal made just for us, Raylan. Same back at you. That sounds like something I can live with for a long time."

Raylan doesn't want to talk anymore, he's all full of feelings he doesn't know what the hell to do with. He pulls Boyd further down on the bed, kisses him, and pulls the covers over both of them. The day has turned chilly, and Raylan wants to huddle under blankets and be warm with him. He wants all the things they never got to have with each other.

They fall asleep in each other's arms and don't wake until the room and the sky outside is dark. They rouse each other slowly, wordlessly, and Boyd fucks him, gently and with great care. When he comes, Boyd leans forward and says into Raylan's ear, "Don't forget me." 

Raylan can't even imagine such a thing.

They order subs for dinner, and Boyd gets out of bed to pay for them. They eat in bed with the tv on, leaning against each other while they watch a rerun of Seinfeld. Boyd is really the lamest white supremacist ever, Raylan muses. 

Raylan has a plane to catch the next afternoon. He makes a run for coffee and donuts in the morning, then they pack up their shit and fool around a little before they have to go. 

"I'll email you," says Boyd.

"I know," Raylan answers. 

The kiss goodbye, and go their separate ways.


	4. Partly What We Make It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyd deals with being apart, and finds ways to connect.

When Boyd gets back to Harlan, the first thing he does is head out to Johnny Crowder's bar. He wants to be around people for a little while, after being so much in his own head the whole drive back, but definitely not the boys who work for him. He thinks he might end up hurting one of them if they say the wrong thing, and chances are one of them will. 

His cousin is standing behind the bar and lifts a hand in greeting when he walks in. Boyd slides onto a barstool, and Johnny pushes a glass of whiskey in front of him. 

"Where you been, cousin?" Johnny is leaning against the bar, smoking a cigarette. The place is almost empty. 

"Out of town," Boyd replies, and lights a smoke of his own. He barely smoked over the weekend, since the rental was supposed to be smoke-free, and anyway, Raylan hates it. 

"Oh yeah? Whereabouts?" he asks, and Boyd just gives him a look. Johnny holds his hands up at his shoulders and smirks. "You don't have to tell me shit, Boyd. I got a feeling maybe I don't want to know anyway."

Boyd looks at him sharply, but Johnny busies himself with washing glasses.

The fact is, Boyd would very much like to have someone to talk to about Raylan. Not to ask advice - he knows he'd never get better advice than he can give himself, about this or most anything else - but just to say it and hear it mirrored back as questions, or even anger and disgust. He just wants to say it out loud, but he knows it would be suicide.

He waits a week before going to the library to write to Raylan, and when he opens it he finds a message waiting for him. It was sent the same day Raylan flew out of Atlanta. 

_You told me you didn't want to leave things unsaid, but I realized after we left that I did. It's only that I hope we're going to do this again. I'm not sure what I'd do if I thought that was going to be it. How I went so long without, I can't imagine. Nothing else has ever lived up._

Boyd stares at the screen for a few minutes. He thinks about what it means for Raylan to say such a thing. _Nothing has ever lived up._ It hasn't for him either, but he hasn't been looking. He hasn't allowed himself to get near that kind of risk in a very long time. 

He fucks a woman now and then, when the mood strikes, and anything else he needs, he takes care of far from Harlan. He hasn't seen someone more than once in a very long time. 

When he was much younger, and still thought he might have some choices to make, he did. He let himself grow to care for a boy, and that boy loved him. He was sweet, and he made Boyd laugh in a very different way than Raylan had. 

In the end, he had realized that Boyd was never going to come out, was never going to be in his life the way he needed him to be, and he'd broken it off. Boyd hadn't blamed him at all, but it was hard to deal with, and he never tried again. He made do.

Raylan won't make those demands on him, he knows. Raylan is hiding himself too, and because of who Boyd is, he has to keep him in a double-walled closet. He doesn't try to fool himself that this is the best kind of life to live, but it's the best one he has available to him at this time. If it means he gets to have Raylan, even sometimes, then it's more than he ever thought he'd have. 

He types out a reply to Raylan that says:

_"He was the first to recognize me, and to love what he saw." -Charlotte Bronte_

_That's what you were for me, Raylan. The first, and the most, and the only one who ever saw me for real and still cared for me. If you think I'd give that up willingly after just getting it back, then you don't understand me at all._

_I can live with sometimes. I can live with waiting. I am a very patient man. You are not, and that's just a simple fact. Can you deal with doing it this way? I'm not asking you to live like a nun when we're not together, I just need to know you're not going to get impatient and start trying to change the rules on me._

_You could ask for more from someone else, I am well aware of that. You could tell people, make that change in your life if you wanted to. I can't. And asking me to, telling me to, or giving me ultimatums, won't change that._

_I'm yours, if you want me this way. Now the choice is yours. You got the deck this time._

He doesn't hear from Raylan for almost two weeks after that, and when he does, it's not an email. It's a box, and inside is a pre-paid cell phone, programmed with one number. The note with it reads, "You know what my choice is. Please be careful."

This phone is a huge risk, far more so for Raylan than for him. If he were to get arrested and was found with a phone programmed with Raylan's number, his career would be over. The number is undoubtedly for another burner, but it's still very dangerous. 

He drives to the library after receiving the package and writes to thank Raylan for the gift, and to make whatever promises he can about how careful he will be, and to tell him that he feels happier than he has in a long time. 

For the next several months, they continue with the email. They decide on a set day - Mondays -to exchange them, because when he drives all the way to the library and finds nothing waiting for him, it pisses him off. And it drives Raylan crazy because he checks every day and never knows when he'll get something. 

Sometimes Boyd will write a letter that takes Raylan twenty minutes to read. Some weeks Raylan writes an email every day, even though he knows Boyd won't get them for a week. 

Once, Boyd neglects to include a literary quote two weeks in a row, and Raylan complains that he's getting lazy and that the spark must be going out of their relationship. He responds with a quote from Dante: "A mighty flame follows a tiny spark," and writes, "I'm still burning, Raylan."

The next email from Raylan has another set of dates, this time in August (one month from the day the email was sent), and the words, "Same place. You in?"

He hasn't used the phone at all up to now, because it feels so dangerous, and also because it's hard to imagine chatting on the phone to him like a fucking teenage girl. He calls that night, though, because just having the dates, knowing he's going to be able to see him and touch him, makes him want to have that contact right away. 

Raylan answers the phone on the third ring. He sounds nervous when he says hello, which is not too surprising. The sound of his voice has an immediate warming effect on Boyd.

"Hey, Raylan," he says, feeling a little self-conscious about calling now.

"Hey. Everything good? Something up?" 

"Everything's fine," Boyd answered quickly, "sorry to scare you. I just got your message and it made me want to talk to you."

"Oh. Well... I'm glad you did. It's what I sent the phone for in the first place, you know. Not that I need to talk to you every night or anything, but..."

"Yeah," Boyd says, suddenly feeling like he might have fucked up a little. "I didn't think... I'm sorry, Raylan. It's good to hear your voice."

Raylan laughs and says, "I ain't mad. I just figured you didn't like talking on the phone. It's not one of my favorite things either, I ain't a 14 year old girl." Boyd grins and lays back on his bed, relieved that its not as weird as he was afraid it would be. "But if we're only seeing each other a couple, three times a year, I wanted..." 

"To make contact. You're right. I should have called sooner. I don't know how I'm gonna make it through this month, now I know what's coming." Boyd closes his eyes and pictures the inside of the rental house. The living room, the kitchen, the bedroom... Raylan stretched out on the bed waiting for him. "I want to touch you right now, so bad."

Raylan is quiet for a moment and Boyd can hear the rustling sound of him shifting around. He wonders if Raylan is touching himself. He's instantly hard at the idea.

"I want that too," Raylan is saying, speaking in a low voice. "I can't wait to get my hands on you, boy." 

"I can't wait to get your mouth on me, Raylan." Boyd can't help himself, he's stroking himself as he listens to Raylan's voice. "What you gonna do when you see me?" 

Raylan's breathing has definitely picked up, though his voice remains steady and low. "I'm gonna get inside you."

"That's what you like best, huh?" Boyd is seeing it, Raylan fucking him on his knees like last time, digging into his back. 

"No," Raylan says, "I love all of it, but," he pauses, and Boyd is sure he's jerking off now, "the best was on the couch, when we were watching the movie."

Boyd grins suddenly, surprised. "All that shit we did, and your favorite thing was a handjob on the sofa?" Although, it had been a very fucking good handjob. 

"Yeah," Raylan says, "yeah, it was so good, Boyd. I think about it all the time. I'm jerking off, by the way."

"No shit, Raylan. Me too, in case there's any way you couldn't tell. You can make me come if you tell me about that time on the sofa. Tell me why you liked it so much."

Raylan makes a little noise in reaction to that, then starts talking. He says, "It's the way I was touching both of us at the same time. It was like being the same person for a minute. And you were talking. You told me it was all mine. All for me. And then you were putting your mouth on me, on my chest, and it felt so good, and..."

"Raylan, you're making me come. I'm gonna do it now. It's all because of you. 'Cause I want you so bad. I want you so goddamn bad." He's thinking of Raylan's face, and hearing the broken breaths coming through the phone, and he's coming hard onto his stomach.

They take a minute to collect themselves. Then Raylan says, "And then after, you told me you loved me."

Boyd is completely still, and his heart is beating fast again. "No I didn't," he says. 

"Sure you did, Boyd. That's what I heard, anyway. You gonna tell me you don't?"

"No," he answers, and he thinks, that's it. Now we're screwed. But it's not true, he knows - those words don't change anything. They were both all in long before that, and headed for big trouble down the road.

Two weeks later, Boyd runs into Helen Givens at the filling station. He's gassing up his truck when she pulls up at the pump behind him. He turns to say hello, and makes small talk so he can keep looking at her. She doesn't look too much like Raylan, but she sounds like him, and reminds Boyd of him so much. 

Helen knows him from before, from when he was Raylan's friend, but she also knows very well what he's doing now. She always looks at him with what he thinks is a mixture of pity and disgust. She's being polite to him, though. She always is. 

Boyd remembers what Raylan told him once, that she knows. He never asked him how she came to find out. He wants to know. He could talk to her, at least about back then. She hasn't said anything all these years, she's unlikely to do it now. 

He finishes filling his tank and walks over to Helen, leaning against hers. "Miss Helen," he says, "do you remember the time Raylan and I spent the night in your guest room, when he got in that big fight with his daddy?"

She looks at him suspiciously, and like maybe she doesn't want to think about that, but she replies, "Sure I do. You washed the breakfast dishes the next morning." She gave a slight smile. "You always did have good manners, I'll say that much for you."

"Can I ask why you didn't mind us sleeping in there together? I'm pretty sure you knew what was between us."

Her eyes widen and she stares at him. "Why are you bringing this up now? Are you trying to cause trouble for him?"

"No, ma'am. I have no desire to hurt Raylan. I just wondered. Most people would not have done that. Most probably wouldn't have had me in their home at all, knowing that."

She shrugs and purses her lips. She says, "Raylan was a good boy, mostly. He was respectful. So were you. I figured you'd behave yourselves in my home. I hope you ain't gonna tell me now that wasn't the case."

Boyd smiled and looked down at the ground for a moment. "No such a thing. We wouldn't have thought of it." They had, of course, but she didn't need to know. 

"What on earth brought this on? We been seeing each other all these years and you never said boo. Suddenly you're wanting to talk about Raylan twice in the last year. Why?"

Boyd looks at her very directly and says, "He's been on my mind."

She looks like she wants to ask something, but she doesn't. As she opens the door to her truck, she says, "Would you like me to pass anything on, next time I speak with him?"

He looks at her in surprise and says, "That's very kind of you. Please give him my... Tell him I said hello."

The month passes very slowly. The morning he wakes up and knows he will be seeing Raylan, he gets up at four in the morning and throws his already packed bag in the passenger seat of his truck and rolls out of Harlan as the sun is coming up.


	5. No Certain Place to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They spend some more time together in Atlanta, but nothing is resolved.

Raylan's flight arrives in Atlanta at 11:15 on Friday morning, and this time Boyd is there to meet him. It makes no sense for Raylan to rent a car when Boyd has his truck. 

Raylan hasn't checked a bag, since they're only going to be there for two nights, and hopefully not needing much in the way of clothing anyhow. Boyd is waiting for him in short term parking, leaning up against his truck like a memory. 

When Raylan walks up, Boyd takes his bag and throws it in the back of the truck, then wraps an arm around his waist and kisses him. Raylan pulls back nervously and glances around. There are a few other people walking to their cars, but Boyd holds him close. 

"That don't matter here," he says, "We can be whoever we want, no one knows us. We can be people who do that kind of thing, if we want to."

Raylan gives him a dubious look and says, "Is that what you want?"

"It feels good, don't it?" Boyd says, "Like stretching after you been confined. Ain't felt it for a long time, but..." He shrugs. 

Raylan has a tiny frown on his brow, and he's looking intently at Boyd. "I figured there was someone, but you never said. Will you tell me about it?"

Boyd nods and pulls up half his mouth into a smile. "I'll tell you on the road."

Boyd starts driving, and Raylan watches him prepare to tell the story. Finally, he starts talking, and it's obvious he's never told it to anyone. Of course, who would he tell?

"I met this kid in Columbus, Ohio. I say kid, but he was a little older than me at the time. I was 24. He was... He was from a different kind of place than we come from. He told his parents he liked boys when he was in high school. Can you even begin to imagine that shit?"

Raylan snorts and says darkly, "I can imagine it. And I can imagine getting the shit beat out of me and kicked outta the house."

"His parents told him they loved him and they just wanted him to be happy."

They look at each other with a kind of grim amusement, then Boyd shakes his head and turns his eyes back to the road.

"He was a good person." Boyd was looking steadily ahead, his face set on one expression. "I was with him for over a year, and he kept thinking he could bring me around. He thought I was just scared, and that eventually I'd be ready, and we could be together. He wanted me to move in with him."

"But you couldn't," Raylan says, "because of what you do. Because of your daddy. Because of Harlan."

"I could have. I chose not to, Raylan."

Raylan sighs and looks out the window. "Did you love him?"

Boyd doesn't answer right away. He waits for Raylan to look back at him, then replies, "Almost."

"If you had?" Raylan is pretty sure what the answer will be, but that doesn't make him any less sad when he hears it.

"I don't think it would have made the difference." 

Raylan lays a hand on the back of his neck, and Boyd takes a breath. He says, "Just don't ever ask me for that. Please."

"Don't worry. I can't give it either. Look, Boyd, I'm happy enough with this. I'm shit at relationships anyway. This way, when I get to see you, it can be all about that. I'll kiss you in public if that's what you need from me. I'll be your boyfriend. I want all that too." 

Raylan realizes that's actually true. It's never occurred to him to want that before. He never thought of it as something he needed to do, because he never thought he'd be with a man in a way that required it. It's obvious to him now that it must have been a choice he made out of fear. He hates that. 

Boyd presses his lips together, then takes a hand from the wheel, reaching up to pull Raylan's hand from his neck. He kisses it and places it in his lap. Raylan kneads the inside of his thigh, then moves in closer to his body, to his center, where he's so warm. 

By the time they reach the house, they both have their jeans unzipped and they're breathing heavily. They leave their bags in the truck and stumble to the door of the house, fumble their way in and start pulling their clothes off as they make their way to the bedroom. 

Boyd drops to his knees as soon as Raylan has his pants off, reaching for his cock and guiding it into his mouth almost before Raylan realizes what he's doing. It's perfect, and he's been waiting for so long. He's gotten laid a few times since the last time he saw Boyd, but it was almost like masturbation. Whether it was a man or a woman, he closed his eyes and thought about who he really wanted to be with.

He doesn't want to come right away, not before they have a chance to do more things. He wants this to last. Raylan pushes Boyd's head back gently, and he looks up. "What is it, baby?" he asks. 

Raylan smiles down at him, holds his hand out and says, "I want you all over me. Come on."

Boyd takes his hand and they tumble onto the bed. They kiss and roll around for awhile, and at one point Raylan is on top, gazing down at Boyd. He says, "Goddamn, I missed you," and Boyd just reaches for his cock. 

After, when they're lying under the sheet, Boyd's arm draped over Raylan's chest, Raylan thinks for a minute that they're stupid not to have this all the time. That maybe all the impediments they see are only in their own minds. 

Maybe Boyd is thinking the same thing, or maybe he just guesses what's going through Raylan's head, because he says, "It's best this way, Raylan. We'll never take it for granted."

Raylan turns to bury his face in Boyd's hair for a moment, then answers, "That's true. I just wish wish had a little more time than we do."

"We'll work it out, Raylan," Boyd says, wrapping his arm tighter around him, "We got time."

They lay quietly for a few minutes, until Raylan starts slightly, like he'd just woken from a doze. "I heard you talked to Helen." 

"Oh." Boyd gave a half-laugh. "Yeah."

"Why the fuck did you do that?"

Boyd angles himself so he can see Raylan's face. "You pissed?"

Raylan isn't sure how he feels about it, but he isn't crazy about the idea of that kind of talk, with anyone in Harlan. You just never know. "No," he replies, "but I don't think you should do it again."

"Alright. I didn't say nothing about our current situation, I just asked her about before. I just wanted to say it to someone. Someone who knows both of us. I don't know why, exactly, I just needed to make it feel real."

"I get it," Raylan says, "I ain't mad. We just have to be careful. She said she was concerned about you, by the way. Said you seemed lonely."

"I was just missing you."

They spend a lot of time in bed that weekend. When they kiss goodbye, they both put on a happy face. They say, "I'll see you real soon," and, "I'll call you," and, "I love you."

For years, they keep coming back to this place. They play cards, they fuck, they go out to eat and watch movies. Usually they only stay for a weekend, but a couple times they get a whole week. It starts to feel like these times are the only parts of their lives that are true, and the rest is just waiting. They both know it's a dangerous way to think, but neither knows what to do about it.

Raylan doesn't sleep with other people anymore. Not because Boyd ever asked him, and he doesn't know or much care if Boyd does. It's just not in his nature. It seems he can only really want one person at a time.

The week after Raylan shoots Tommy Bucks, when Dan Grant tells him he's being transferred to Kentucky, Raylan does something he has never done. He calls the cell phone he sent to Boyd all those years ago in the middle of the day. 

Boyd doesn't answer, which comes as no surprise to Raylan. He wouldn't carry it around on his person, it's way too risky. 

He doesn't get a call back until very late, almost two in the morning, but he's wide awake. 

"Boyd," he says, without a greeting, "we have a problem." 

The day Raylan arrives in Lexington, Boyd comes to the shitty hotel room he's moved into. They hardly speak at first. They kiss and fall onto the bed. Boyd fucks him, and they make it last a long time. Raylan listens to his voice the whole time, but all he says is, "I love you, I love you," and that's not enough. 

They fall asleep tangled up and stay that way all night. 

In the morning, Boyd gets up early and puts his clothes on, then sits on the bed where Raylan is watching him. 

Raylan says, "You're thinking this is one of those moments when we have a choice to make, aren't you? But I still don't."

"No, I ain't thinking that." Boyd heaves a sigh and looks directly at him. "You had one, but you already made it. So did I. It's too late now."

"I'm sorry," Raylan whispers. 

"Me too," Boyd answers, and leans over to kiss him softly on the cheek. He leaves without saying goodbye. 

Raylan has never felt as terrible he does at this moment, and he can't imagine ever feeling worse. Then again, he has always had a rather limited imagination.


	6. All Savages at Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things do not go smoothly upon Raylan's return to Harlan.

Once Raylan is sent to Harlan to investigate a church bombing, to speak to the suspect, Boyd Crowder, everything spins out of control very, very quickly. 

After Bowman Crowder is shot by his wife, they are already inside of a car with no brakes and a brick on the accelerator. Neither of them can see a way out that doesn't involve a terrible crash. 

Raylan is kneeling by his side, staring down as he calls for an ambulance. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "Boyd, I'm so sorry, please be okay," and Ava looks at him funny. He doesn't care. 

Raylan can hardly believe it when he survives. He thinks it must mean something, that Boyd surviving that gunshot means that they have to make a change. Raylan is ready, he's braced for it. If Boyd tells him to quit, he'll do it. He'll do whatever Boyd wants him to do, because he loves him. He can't understand why that didn't occur to him before this had to happen.

He walks in slowly, and Boyd is awake in his bed. "Raylan," he says, "I'm so glad you came."

Raylan comes over to the side of the bed and reaches out with a shaking hand to touch his arm. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words will come.

Boyd smiles calmly, and there's a strange, intense look in his eyes. "I want to thank you, Raylan."

 _"What?_ he whispers.

"Getting shot is the best thing that could have happened to me. I've been freed. I no longer have to walk in darkness."

"Boyd..." Raylan frowns. He can't put this together. 

"I am sorry I put you in that position," Boyd says softly. "I know how painful this has been for you. It was my doing. None of it is on you."

"That ain't true, Boyd. We both made the choices that brought us here."

"It makes no difference. I believe it was meant to happen. I believe God planned it."

"God." Raylan's head is spinning, and he is suddenly very much afraid of where this conversation might be headed.

"That's right, Raylan."

"You don't believe in God."

"I didn't," Boyd said, inclining his head slightly. "But I've felt His presence now. I know He's real, and I can only pray that one day you'll know the same joy and peace."

Raylan has no idea what to make of this conversation. Boyd seems weirdly disconnected from him, and he doesn't understand. Boyd is looking at him like the last six years never happened, and Raylan needs to remind him, remind them both. 

He touches his face, whispers, "I love you," and leans down to kiss his forehead, but Boyd puts a hand in between them and pushes back. 

"Raylan," Boyd says gravely, looking into his eyes, "I will always love you. I would never ask for that to be taken from me, because it has been a balm to my soul for many years. Despite the sinful nature of what we've been doing, I believe the love I feel for you is separate from that, pure."

Raylan is frowning now, deeply troubled by what he's saying. Boyd continues, "I have prayed, and will continue to pray, that these desires be lifted from me. God may never grant me that. They may be a burden I am required to bear my whole life long, but I will pray for the strength to resist them."

"What the hell are you talking about? What are you playing at?"

"I ain't playing, Raylan. I've seen the light. I've been saved."

Raylan is shaking his head like he can still make it go away, like Boyd might suddenly crack a smile and tell him he's just fucking with him. Because anything else, the possibility that this is real, is like a punch in the gut. He never does, and Raylan can't listen anymore. He presses Boyd's morphine button for him and leaves the room. 

Three nights later, Raylan shows up at Ava's house again. She's received threats, and he's worried about her, but he's also glad to have somewhere to be. He remembers how she greeted him the first time he went to see her, and it crosses his mind that she might do it again.

She lets him in, they have a drink and flirt, and he lets himself be that person. A man with no attachments, no responsibilities. He lets himself want her. They dance in her kitchen and he tells her a joke, and that's probably a good deal more than he needs to do to end up in her bed. 

He comes back again, and a few more times after that. It's easy to be around her, and it's easy not to be, which might be just as important to him.

A few weeks later, sleeping in Ava's bed, he dreams of the shooting. It's exactly as it was, except that Boyd is 19, and except that he dies. He wakes up to Ava shaking his arm. He's breathing hard and his face is wet.

"Raylan," she's saying, "It's a dream, wake up."

He shakes her arm off, gently as he can, but he can't have her touching him. He can't believe he's in her bed, this was a terrible idea, he needs to go. 

"Who were you talking to? In the dream?" She was looking at him, her face soft with concern. 

"What? I don't... What was I saying?"

"You said, 'I never chose,' and 'I love you.' And 'I'm sorry.' You said that over and over." 

Raylan wipes his face with his hands and says, "No one. It was just a dream," but he gets up and starts pulling on clothes.

Ava stands and pulls at his arm. "What are you doing? It's the middle of the night. Come back to bed, Raylan." 

"I have to go. I'm sorry, Ava. I can't do this. We should never have done this. I don't... I'm sorry. Truly." He finishes pulling on his boots and says, "Goodbye." 

Just as he reaches the door, she says, "Was it Boyd?" and Raylan freezes. 

"What about Boyd?" he says, strangely calm.

"In your dream." She's standing with her arms crossed, leaning against the footboard of the bed. 

Raylan nods, although some part of his brain is yelling at him to just get the fuck out of there.

"Tell me, Raylan."

He's looking at her, and he thinks she wants to help, but he can't let her. He can't tell her this. He shakes his head, but doesn't make a move to leave. 

Ava is walking slowly towards him, as if she's afraid of scaring him away. He has no idea what his face looks like, but it can't be good because she takes hold of his arm and pulls him over to the bed, makes him sit. 

"You and Boyd were so close before you left. Like brothers."

Raylan barks out a short laugh that's too loud for the quiet room. "Not like brothers."

"What, then? What was it, Raylan?" She's looking at him with huge eyes, waiting to hear the thing that he can't bring himself to say.

He lowers his face into his hands and lets her put a hand on his back. Finally, she sighs, and says, "Okay. I won't make you say it if you can't. You could, though. I don't think it's bad, honey. I'm not like that."

Raylan nods, but still says nothing.

"Must have been weird," she continues, "seeing him after all that time. You and him on opposite sides."

He's shaking his head again and running his fingers through his hair. "I knew. We've been in touch. 

She's staring at him like she doesn't understand what he's saying. "Since when?"

"About six years now. We're... We were together."

"Six years..." she whispers. 

"I fucked everything up so bad. And you... I'm so sorry, Ava. I shouldn't be here."

"Raylan, we only screwed a few times, we ain't married. Come on, just lie down, get some sleep. I won't touch you. You can't drive to Lexington tonight."

Raylan stares at her, then nods slowly. He takes off his boots and removes his shirt but leaves his jeans on, then lays down. 

"Raylan..." Ava starts, but hesitates.

"What do you want to know, Ava? If I really like fucking women?" It comes out defensive, almost angry, and that's annoying as shit. 

She snorts. "No, I feel like I got a pretty good read on that already. I was gonna ask about when you shot him. That was already the worst thing I've ever seen, but now that I know... Why did you both let it get that far? Either one of you could have stopped it."

Raylan gave a resigned sigh. "Just assholes, I guess. Both of us hurt and angry."

"Because you love each other." He can hear her smiling in the dark, and he thinks - as he has many times in the past - that he really does not understand women. He sighs and doesn't answer.

She reaches over and pats him on the arm, then rolls over, away from him. "You'll figure it out, Raylan. Or he will. He's real smart, you know."

A couple days later, Art calls him into his office to ask him about Ava. Raylan tells him, "I ain't seeing her anymore."

"Well that may be, son," Art says grimly, "but the damage may already be done. We got a call from Boyd Crowder's lawyer. They're filing an injunction due to the conflict of interest. He might get let out because you couldn't keep it in your damn pants with a witness."

"Oh," Raylan says, trying to keep the battle of emotions he's experiencing from showing on his face. "Shit. I'll... I'll go try to talk to Boyd, see what I can do."

"Sure, sure. You do that. Maybe he'll decide to stay in jail 'cause its the right thing to do. You think?"

Raylan rolls his eyes and walks out. 

He's waiting in an empty cell when Boyd is brought in. Raylan tells the guard he wants to talk to Boyd alone, so he leaves, saying he'll be in shouting distance if Raylan needs him.

Boyd's hands are cuffed in front of his body. He sits opposite Raylan with an eerily calm expression, except for the challenge in his eyes. Raylan waits for him to speak.

"Well," Boyd says after the stare down goes on for a minute or so, "I suppose I should thank you again, Raylan."

"I didn't do it for you, asshole," he replies, very quietly.

"Oh, I know. But I'm glad you did, and not only because it's my ticket out of here. I've been praying for you, Raylan, that you can resist your unnatural urges and walk the true path." He says this with a completely straight face, no winking self-awareness, no humor at all.

Raylan can't help but sneer, and he says, "I ain't seeing her anymore, and it doesn't mean a goddamn thing that I was. Nothing has changed for me, Boyd, and you know what? I don't want it to. I wouldn't change it if I could."

Boyd is shaking his head sadly, and he says, "I blame myself, Raylan. Of course you must take responsibility for your own choices, but your instincts were right. You had made the right choice, and set the other aside. I diverted you from that course. I am so sorry, Raylan."

Raylan's eyes are huge, and his mouth is drawn down into the tiniest line possible. He can take this bullshit to a certain point, but he's gone too far. "Don't you fucking dare," he grinds out. "Don't you _dare_ apologize to me for that."

"Raylan, I have to. I regret so much-" He cuts off abruptly, because Raylan is coming across the table, coming at him, and Boyd backs up against the bars of the cell.

Raylan has his hands in the fabric of his prison jumpsuit, gripping it tight and pushing in at him hard enough to bruise his chest. He leans in and speaks in a low growl, just above a whisper. 

"You _regret?_ What do you regret, Boyd?" He's leaning in close, breathing into his face, his whole body shoved up against him. "You regret sucking my dick? You regret fucking my ass?" He can feel Boyd getting hard against him, and he's turned his face away. "You regret kissing me until your lips were all red and sore, and then still not wanting to stop? 'Cause I don't regret any of that. I just miss it. I want more of it. I want it all the time."

Raylan is hard too, and even though Boyd is holding himself stiffly and not responding - except in that one involuntary way - he's having a difficult time pulling himself away. It feels like so much time has passed since the last time he's touched him. 

He does move back, but not far. He's still in Boyd's space, but he's not touching him anymore. He says softly, "What else do you think you should apologize for? You want to say sorry for holding my hand? For laying with me while we slept?"

Boyd still isn't answering, or looking at Raylan. Raylan feels like he might want to cry, but he can't do that, so he just gets more pissed off. 

He says, "How about that time we stayed over at Helen's? That was the first time we ever spent the whole night together, you remember?"

That was the first thing he'd said that showed on Boyd's face. Raylan smiled grimly, because he knew he'd hit the mark. He knew Boyd was remembering. So was he. 

Frances had been gone to Limehouse for a week. Arlo was in a dangerous mood, and was well on the way to shitfaced when Boyd dropped him off after work. Raylan was going to shower and eat something, and they had plans to meet up later. 

Raylan knew as soon as he walked in, how it was going to be. Arlo was sitting in front of the television, and without looking up, snarled, "Your little boyfriend drop you off?" He laughed, an ugly, humorless sound. 

Raylan was not about to get involved in any conversation that started that way, so he tried walking past without answering. 

"Get your ass back in here, boy," Arlo snapped, "You're living under my roof, eating my goddamn food, you answer my questions when I ask."

Raylan gritted his teeth and went back into the room. He stood silently, waiting for Arlo to say whatever he wanted to say so he could leave. 

"You might be fooling your mother, but I ain't fucking blind."

Raylan was still working his jaw, staring at his father with wide, angry eyes, trying to tamp down the fear he suddenly feels. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked.

"How long you and the Crowder boy been going at it? Been sucking his cock since ninth grade, I bet." His face was twisted into an ugly grimace, and Raylan couldn't stand being in the same room anymore. 

"You're drunk, Arlo. You're talking shit. Why don't you go finish that bottle and black out so you don't have to think about why your wife keeps leaving you? I ain't gonna stick around to see it." 

He grabbed a change of clothes from his room, but didnt stay to shower or eat. He knew he needed to get out of Arlo's sight, so maybe he'd forget about the things he was saying. If his father had known anything for sure, it would have been a much different conversation. 

He went out to the high school, which was the meeting spot he and Boyd had agreed on, and waited for him to arrive. He got there about an hour and a half later, and looked at Raylan with a worried frown when he saw him still wearing his clothes from earlier, still not showered, with coal dust behind his ears. 

"What happened?" Boyd came over and sat next to him on the end of the truck bed. "Arlo?"

Raylan sighed and nodded. He didn't want to tell Boyd what it was. He thought it might scare him off, and Raylan needed Boyd close. There was no way he could survive here without him.

"You got any place to go?" Boyd asked. "I'll sleep out with you if you want, I can grab a few blankets."

Raylan was suddenly seized with a strong, crazy urge to tell Boyd they should just leave, just get the fuck out and never look back. Instead, he said, "I was thinking of going to my aunt Helen's place. She'll let me get a shower and give me something to eat. You want to come? I'm sure she'll feed you too."

"Yeah, alright," Boyd said, still looking concerned, but smiling a little. "I already ate, though."

"Well, maybe you need to eat two dinners, get some meat on them skinny ribs." Raylan was grinning at him and he made a grab at Boyd's side, but Boyd was too quick for him. He pushed Raylan off-balance and somehow managed to get him flat on his back in the truck. 

He looked down at Raylan and said, "I might be skinny, but I never lose a fight, Raylan. You ought to remember that."

Gazing back up at him mildly, Raylan said, "Wasn't fighting I had in mind, Boyd."

Boyd leaned over and kissed him, then pulled back with his nose wrinkled up. "You taste like the mine, boy. Come on, let's go see Helen."

Raylan showered and changed first thing. Helen fed them, and didn't press Raylan for details about his fight with Arlo. They were sitting at the kitchen table, Boyd and Helen smoking, and Raylan sipping at the small glass of shine that Helen had poured him. She took a breath and started talking. 

She told him about the money she had saved, told him he could have it if he left and stayed gone. She said it was the best thing. While she spoke, she cast a few quick, worried glances at Boyd, but he didn't say anything. 

Raylan had no doubt now that she knew, somehow, and that if she knew maybe everyone else suspected too. They'd been stupid to think they could keep a secret like this in a place like Harlan. 

She finished by telling him to think on it, but not to take too long. She looked between him and Boyd, pursed her lips and said, "Well, if you're both staying over you'll have to share. I only got the one spare bed, but I'm sure you can make do. I'm going to sleep now."

Raylan could barely manage to get out a "Good night." She knew, he was sure of it, and she was letting them stay together anyway. She must have known they had something to talk about, a decision to make. 

They barely spoke once they were in bed, though. They both knew what their options were, and it didn't feel like there was any point in talking too much about it. They had stripped only to their underwear, not feeling right about fooling around in Helen's house. 

They wrapped themselves up together, warm under the old quilt, heads resting on hard, lumpy old pillows. It felt like an unimaginable luxury, to sleep like this, no cold metal beneath their backs, no fear of discovery. They fell asleep easily and stayed close all night.

Raylan woke up just as the sky was turning a deep blue. He shifted slightly, jostling Boyd's head where it lay against his shoulder. He looked up blearily, and Raylan smiled down at him. They exchanged sleepy kisses, far more tender than usual, and their hands were gentle on each other's skin. It felt sad, but it was also exciting, and different. It felt like there was _more_ of everything.

They were quiet, and careful not to get anything on Helen's sheets. They whispered things to each other - not love, never that, but other things that meant the same. Mostly each other's names, but also "yes," and "please." At the end, Boyd leaned close to Raylan's ear and said, "That's so good, baby." Raylan's breath caught in his throat and he came right then. 

Raylan stands inches from Boyd in his prison jumpsuit. Boyd is looking at him now, the first honest look he's given him since the shooting. "Don't, Raylan," he whispers. "Please, just don't."

Raylan nods slowly. "Whatever your game is, Boyd, just know, you ain't fooling me. You loved me then, you love me now, and there ain't no way you think that's a sin. Ain't no way."

He yells for the guard and leaves without saying goodbye.


	7. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyd gets out of jail and things come to a head. The boys have to make some hard choices.

Raylan doesn't go near the prison again until the day Boyd is released. He goes to be close to Boyd - it seems impossible that it's only been a matter of months since they were together, even happy after a fashion - and to force Boyd to see him, to breathe the same air, even to touch him. He can't keep this up forever.

They walk out of the institutional building together, Boyd raising his face to the sky, lifting his arms, affecting or genuinely feeling exultation. Raylan can no longer tell. 

"Raylan, I am on the right path now," he says in his testifying voice, "God has spoken to me."

"I got nothing to say to that, Boyd," Raylan replies, forcing a mildness into his voice that he does not feel. "You know you're causing me a great deal of pain, personally. You know that, right? Because I do not want you to be mistaken on that point."

"I am truly sorry that's so. I never wished for that. You know how much I care for you, and that is why your eternal soul is so important to me."

After that, Raylan walks away from him. There's only so much bullshit he can take from anyone, much less from someone who was once so honest with him, and to whom he had revealed so much of himself. 

Raylan keeps an ear out, and he hears things. He keeps abreast, though he doesn't push. He knows Boyd is preaching, conducting his ministry to a bunch of hard cases and drifters. He suspects other things, and he doesn't know how long he has before the situation is forced, by Boyd or by his job. 

Raylan is in Harlan, investigating an explosion at a meth lab, a twenty pound weight resting in his gut the whole time. Before driving home, on an impulse, he goes to see Helen. She’s alone, for which Raylan is grateful. He can deal with seeing Arlo if he has to, but he’d rather not, especially not today. 

He sits at her kitchen table with his head in his hands and lets her pat him on the back for a minute. Then she pours him a drink and tells him to start talking.

"Where do you want me to start, Helen?"

"No need to go all the way back," she says, lighting a cigarette. "I think I already figured out how it started. How about you start with the time, years ago, Boyd Crowder come up to me out of the damn blue and started talking about you. You got something to tell me about that?" She was looking at him keenly through the curling smoke.

Raylan was silent for a moment, thinking back. That was at the beginning, such a long time ago. He asks, "He asked you about me twice, didn't he?"

She raises an eyebrow at him and says, "He did, as a matter of fact, but I only told you about one of 'em."

Raylan sighs. "He told me about the first time. Said I should call and tell you I was getting divorced."

She looks at him sharply and starts to ask the question he knows is coming, but he cuts her off. "He wasn't the reason. Winona and I fucked that marriage up on our own, long before he came back around. But yeah, that was about the time me and him got back in touch."

"You seen a lot of him since then?"

"Three or four times a year for a long weekend, sometimes a week," he sighs.

She's staring at him, open-mouthed. Whatever she might have suspected, this wasn't it. "Jesus, Raylan. I thought you seen him once, around the first time he mentioned you. I just figured it made an impression and he was maybe pining a bit. I never imagined you were in a goddamn _relationship_ with that man for the last six years. Do you know how dangerous that is? For both of you?"

"We kept it real quiet, Helen. We just wanted some time together. But since I came back to Kentucky..."

She laughs harshly and finishes, "You shot him, locked him up, and screwed his sister-in-law."

"And now he's lost his damn mind, living out there in the woods like some kinda hillbilly John the Baptist." 

Helen snorts, and Raylan gives her a severe look. "Oh, Raylan, you don't think that's the real deal, do you? This _is_ Boyd Crowder we're talking about, ain't it?"

"No..." he replies carefully, "I don't think it's real, exactly, but I think what he's doing is goddamn dangerous and I don't understand his angle, at all."

"So what are you gonna do?"

Raylan looks at her blankly. "Do? About what?" 

Helen huffs impatiently and says, "You got to fix this, Raylan. You know damn well you should never have come back here, for all kinds of reasons. Look what this place has done to you after only a few months."

Raylan gazes back at her. "You didn't want me back here for your own reasons. You didn't even know about me and Boyd."

"Maybe I had my reasons, but why didn't you use your own damn common sense? What did you think would happen?"

Raylan looks at the table and shakes his head. "I thought we'd just break it off, and I'd be miserable, and then I'd get over it, more or less. I certainly didn't think I'd end up almost killing him. When that happened... I reconsidered my priorities."

"Did you now?" Helen says, hacking out a laugh. 

Raylan runs a hand across his face, then looks at her nakedly, hoping - and almost believing - that she can give him the answer. "What do I do, Helen?"

She thins her lips and says, "Well, that depends. I ain't even gonna ask if you love him, 'cause it's goddamn obvious that you do, and you been with him long enough you oughtta know by now. Six years... Shit, Raylan. You ready to throw that in the trash?"

"No," he replies, "Not anymore."

"Is he, then?" she asks gently. 

Raylan shakes his head in bewilderment. "I can't tell. But I know he's scared shitless. Bo breathing down his fucking neck, and this shit with the meth, I don't know what the hell he's trying to do. He's putting himself right in the line of fire, he's-" 

Raylan looks up at her and says, "Shit. I think I do know what he's doing. Goddamnit, that stupid fuckin' asshole. 

Helen looks a question at him, and he says, "He's trying to destroy Bo. And he doesn't want me anywhere near it. He thinks he's protecting me."

"He _is_ protecting you, boy. You ought to let him."

"He's gonna destroy himself," Raylan growls, and he gets up. 

He drives out to where Boyd's camp is set up, and walks into it, ignoring the suspicious and outright hostile glares from men long conditioned to distrust the law.

Boyd comes out of a tent, Bible in hand, and smiles at him. "US Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens," he says, so his men can hear. "Are you here on official business, Raylan?"

"I need to speak with you," he replies shortly, eyes fixed on Boyd's face.

Boyd puts on a polite smile and says, "Certainly, Marshal."

They walk until they're well out of earshot, but not out of the line of sight of the men. When they stop, Raylan says, "This is the last time I'll be talking to you like I got a right. But I have to say this, and I'm asking you to hear me."

"I always hear you, Raylan," Boyd replies, his eyes guarded.

Raylan takes a deep breath and continues, "All the times we were together, I never once tried to tell you what I really wanted. I barely said it to myself, because I thought there was no point, and I didn't think you'd want to hear it anyway."

"Raylan-"

"Shut up," Raylan said sharply. "Just listen. I said I loved you, but I never said I'd be willing to give anything up for you. And I never asked you to give anything up for me. I might have been waiting for you to offer, I don't really know, but I'm asking now. And I'm offering. If you can find your way back to me, I'll be there."

Boyd looks at him for a moment, then says, "You'll be there? Where is that, Raylan? Somewhere I don't belong, I know that."

"You don't know as much as you think, Boyd." Raylan turns and walks away from him, leaving him staring after. 

Raylan doesn't see him again for a long time, and when he does, Boyd has lost everything, including himself. That's what he tells Raylan when he shows up late at night, at his room. "I'm lost," he says, and he looks it. Raylan can relate. Everything feels beyond fucked, to him. 

Raylan pulls him into the room, into his arms, and lets him stay there quietly. He mumbles in Raylan's ear as they stand there. His men are dead, everything has gone dark in his world. He has nothing left.

Raylan tells him, "That ain't true, Boyd. You still have me," but Boyd just heaves a long, shuddering sigh and says, "I never had you, Raylan. Not really."

Arlo is in the bathroom, wounded by Raylan's gun, probably listening to everything. He doesn't care, for himself, not anymore. He thinks Boyd probably still does though, so he whispers in his ear, "Arlo is here. He ain't going anywhere soon, but you should know."

"He come to take you out?" Boyd's looking at him with terrible pity, and Raylan can hardly stand it. 

"Guess so," he replies. "I won't let that happen."

"You want me to take care of him for you, Raylan? I can do that."

Raylan shakes his head firmly and pulls him in again, holds him tightly. He doesn't kiss him, or try to touch him, but he won't let him go yet either. 

When the call comes in that Ava's in trouble, there's no question of whether Boyd will come along. There's never a question of whether he'd have Raylan's back, not in either of their minds. 

As they drive into their common battle, Raylan feels he has to ask. "You seem pretty broken up over this. Was it real? Your... conversion."

Boyd's quiet for awhile, looking out the window. Eventually, he says quietly, "It was real enough," and they both leave it at that. 

In the end, several people are dead, including Bo, and Raylan is no longer entirely sure what is right and what is wrong. He seems to have lost his way, just as Boyd has, and they're both floundering. He thinks that's because they're still moving away from each other, and that's not what they should be doing.

Weeks go by, and Boyd keeps his distance. Raylan is buried paperwork, thinking about Boyd, waiting for the inevitable call that will erase any hope he might have left.

Winona approaches him in the hallway of the courthouse one afternoon. He'd first run into her very shortly after his return to Kentucky, and they'd had a brief and very awkward conversation. After that, they seemed to avoid each other by mutual, unspoken agreement.

Now she's inviting him for a drink, and in that moment, she resembles the beautiful girl he first met back in Salt Lake, so many years before. He thinks how easy it would be, how much simpler it could feel to just slide back into this, into her. 

They meet at a quiet bar, several blocks from work. She gets there first, and he spies her from across the room. He thinks that she doesn't look the same, like he thought earlier. She looks so much better, with some of her softness, her weakness, hewn away. He knows he's responsible for some of that erosion. 

"Hey," she says, as he sits down. "I wasn't sure you'd actually come."

He smiles at her, slipping on a mask of charm that he hasn't used in quite awhile. It feels odd, ill-fitting, and he drops it quickly. He goes with honesty instead, and finds it suits much better.

"I can understand why you might have wondered," he says. "I get the feeling you want to ask me questions."

"I don't have to," she replies, "We could just sit here and drink, talk about nothing but bullshit, and go back to your place and screw. If that's what you want."

He gapes at her, and she smiles wryly at him. "Aren't you supposed to be married?" he asks.

"Gary and I are separated. He's made some poor decisions recently."

Raylan nods. "It's a tempting offer, but probably not a great idea. I can't offer you anything right now, Winona. And I don't want to have to feel like I should be."

Her face hardens slightly, and she says, "Alright, then. Questions it is."

Raylan nods and sort of grimaces at her. She might deserve a few answers, and she might not, but he's ready to give them, regardless.

"You and him, when you were kids, you meant a lot to each other. You loved him, right?" Raylan nods, and she continues. "When he came to see you... had you been in touch with him?"

Raylan blinks in surprise. "No. Of course not, no. You thought that?"

"I didn't know, Raylan. I had no idea about any of it. So... after. After we split up, did you see him again? Before you came back here, I mean."

Raylan sort of laughs, because there's so much she doesn't know, and he'll have to explain it if he wants her to understand anything. He's not sure if that's important to him or not.

He tilts his head at her and asks, "Why do you want to know?"

"Because..." She pauses and looks down at her beer. "Because I want to know what happened to you after I left. I never knew if I made the right choice or not. I have regrets, Raylan, and I want to know if you do too."

The answer isn't that simple, he knows. He has regrets about so many things he's done, the choices he's made, and some of them have to do with her. 

"By the time Boyd came around that day, we had already done too much damage to repair, I think," he says slowly and carefully.

"Maybe so," she says, "but I'm not sure."

"I am," he says flatly, and her face falls a little. "The man I was when you met me, he was running away from something. I thought I could stop running when I met you, but I never did."

She's frowning at him, curious and half-smiling. "You still doing that?" 

"No," he says, almost surprising himself. "I stopped recently, but maybe a little too late."

"Tell me."

He does, then, and it flows out of him easier than he ever thought it could. He tells her about Boyd, about Atlanta, about falling in love again, and doesn't falter until he comes to the part where he returned to Kentucky.

"Well, you know the outline of what happened then, I guess," he says, his jaw working until he tosses back the rest of his drink and motions to the waitress for another.

"I know about the shooting. You should know, I keep an ear out for gossip about you." She's blushing, which Raylan finds slightly amusing. "When I heard who it was... I can't imagine what you must have been feeling. How did you let things get to that point?"

Raylan rubs at his brow and replies, "It happened because neither of us was willing to make a choice for ourselves. We just let shit happen to us."

She's quiet, looking at him with an unreadable expression. "Is that it, then? Is it over?" she asks quietly.

Raylan shrugs. "That's up to him. I gave him the choice. I don't know if he feels like he can make it, though."

When they leave the bar, she reaches up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. "I hope it works out the way you want it to, honey," she says. "For what it's worth, you were right. If you'd told me about him when we met, I probably would have run the other way. I don't know if that would have been better or worse."

"Worse," he replies with certainty. "I can't regret being with you for the time we were. Do you?"

She shakes her head and hugs him, and they walk away from each other. 

Raylan doesn't know how long he'll have to wait before finding out what will happen with Boyd, one way or another. He's dreading the day he has to take him down again, knowing he won't be able to leave it to Tim or Rachel. He'll have to do it himself, he owes it to Boyd. He knows it's what he'd want, as horrible as it would be for both of them.

He's so sure it's going to go that way, that in his mind, it's like it already has. He's lost whatever hope was still in his heart the day he'd gone to see him, and when he sees Boyd walking into the office, eyes searching for Raylan and looking afraid in a way that Raylan had never seen, he's certain the man has come to confess to some irrevocable wrong. 

Raylan gets up and walks over to him, puts his hand on his elbow, and looks into his eyes.

Pretty much everyone in the office is staring at them, presumably wondering what business Boyd Crowder has with Raylan, and why Raylan is being nice to him, but Raylan just stands there and waits.

"Boyd," he finally says, "what are you doing here?" 

"I need to speak with you, Raylan. Could we go somewhere more private?" He's speaking low enough that Raylan has to strain to understand him. 

He nods, and motions for Boyd to follow him. They take the elevator down, find an empty courtroom and sit in the back row of benches. 

"Raylan, I can't keep this up any longer. I tried. I wanted to fix everything that I fucked up, but I'm only making things worse."

Raylan starts to smile, slightly. "Does that mean no more holy roller bullshit?"

Boyd shifts uncomfortably. "It wasn't bullshit," he says, "at least not all of it. I wanted to do good for once, Raylan, to try to balance out all the bad. I thought God was trying to tell me something. But you and me... I never thought He hated that. How could He?"

Raylan turns to him with an expression of utter relief. A smile grows on his face as he watches Boyd glance up at him, then look back at his lap. 

"I don't know what you're so goddamn happy about," Boyd says, and Raylan feels all warm inside at the blasphemy. "We can't ever be together. You can't be a Marshal tied to a career criminal, Raylan. We could lie and hide it, but you know that wouldn't work forever. Plus it sucks. It ain't fair to either of us."

Raylan puts a hand to the back of Boyd's neck and leans in close. He's going to give Boyd a kiss to rival their first one, and the next first one, and every single kiss he's ever given him. But first, he says, "Yeah, it does suck. It's terrible, and that's why we ain't gonna waste any more of our time doing it."

"But Raylan, that ain't-"

"You're also right about me," he interrupts. "I can't be with you and be a Marshal. It just won't work. I've been thinking, there must be some demand for a man with my skill set in the private security business. Don't you think?" 

Boyd just stares back, right into his eyes, and he must see the truth in there, because he closes his own eyes and his body sags in relief. Raylan takes his face in both hands and closes the small distance between them. 

Raylan has missed this, missed _him_ , so much, and it does feel like those special times, the moments when something was revealed, or returned to him, completely unexpected. 

Boyd's arms are loosely draped around his shoulders, and he's leaning in, getting as close as he can. "I love you, Raylan," he whispers, "I never meant any of that shit I said to you. I never regretted a second of the time we were together."

Raylan puts his forehead to Boyd's, fingers still stroking his cheeks, and says, "No shit, darlin'. You didn't think you fooled me, did you?"

"I tried so hard to make you believe. I needed you to believe, so..."

"So I'd back off. You didn't think you could trust me."

Boyd frowns and kisses Raylan swiftly and deeply. When he pulls back, he says, "No, that ain't it. I trusted you. I always trust you. I was afraid it would spill over on you. It was my mess, Raylan."

"How can you say that?" Raylan stares at him. "I got involved with you knowing what I know. I wanted you more than I wanted to protect myself. I can't suddenly put all that on you, like you played a fucking trick on me. You never lied to me. I was a fool to come back here like this. _I_ made that choice."

"God, Raylan. We could have fixed this shit years ago. Why the hell did we keep living like prisoners all that time?"

Raylan has no answer, so he kisses him again, and again, until Boyd pushes him back onto the bench. Raylan is quite sure they shouldn't be doing this, but they are, and he doesn't want to stop. However... "Boyd, we're just making out a little, right? No... you know," he says, thinking of that night in the park. 

Boyd huffs out a laugh and his whole face lights up in a smile. "I could just keep kissing you all day. I get you in bed tonight, that'll be a different story."

They kiss some more, talking and laughing a little in between, and after awhile Raylan starts to think he should probably get back upstairs. He's just about to make Boyd get off him when he hears the door to the courtroom open. 

They freeze, staring at each other, and Rylan is seized with an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh. He closes his eyes and pushes down hard on it, and then he hears the booming voice of Judge Mike Reardon, along with the high, soft giggles of what sounds like a very young woman. 

The urge to laugh grows stronger, and he can see that Boyd has picked up on it, and is struggling with his own suppressed hysteria. 

They're holding out as best they can, faces buried in the fabric of each other's shirts, but when they hear what could not be anything but His Honor getting sucked off by a hooker somewhere in the room, they both bust. They hear muttered curses and clothing being adjusted, then the sound of high heels clicking their way out of the room. 

"Just who in the hell is in my courtroom?" booms the voice of The Hammer. 

Boyd sits up slowly, sliding down the bench away from Raylan. Raylan sits up too, and Reardon's jaw literally falls open. "Afternoon, Your Honor," he says.

"Deputy," the judge begins in a consciously reasonable tone, "can you offer a logical explanation for why you were sprawled out on a bench in this room with that man on top of you?"

Raylan scratches the back of his head and says, "Well, sir, I guess that depends on your definition of logical. I guess you could say we were celebrating."

"Celebrating! What the hell could you be celebrating that involves... just what the hell is going on here, Raylan?"

“Well...” Raylan is at a bit of a loss. Still, it’s not like there’s anything he could say to this man that would make sense, other than the truth. “Boyd here, he’s, uh... “

“Boyd!” Reardon interjects loudly. “Not Boyd Crowder?”

Boyd stands up and says, “We’ve not had the pleasure of meeting thus far, Judge Reardon, but your reputation certainly precedes you. I’m Boyd Crowder.” He leans over and sticks out his hand, which Reardon does not take.

“Raylan,” Reardon says, “didn’t you shoot this man?”

“I did,” says Raylan, rubbing his face wearily. “I felt real bad about it, though.”

Boyd touches him on the arm and says quietly, “That’s okay, baby. I ain’t mad.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Reardon mutters. 

Raylan says, "We're just gonna head on out of here, Judge. Sorry to interrupt your... meeting." 

Reardon appears to be beyond speech at the moment, which is something Raylan had not yet experienced. He nods, and he starts walking out, Boyd following with his hands in his pockets, looking calmer than he has any right to. 

"You know, Boyd, I think I'll take the rest of the afternoon off," he says as they leave the courtroom. 

"Maybe take the rest of the week," Boyd says, grasping at his wrist and squeezing. "We got some catching up to do."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to norgbelulah and someotherstorm for their beta work on this. <3


End file.
